Kaifuku
by ElleSmith
Summary: Months after the Marimeia Incident, Heero wakes up from a coma and finds himself under the care of a mysterious man. While the man does seem to be trustworthy, things aren't always as they seem and and Heero's life could very well be in danger.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:**_ The characters of Gundam Wing and all that relates to the After Colony universe belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency & TV Asahi (1995 ©). The following is a fan fiction story that was written for none profitable purposes.

_**Title:**_Kaifuku (Recovery)

_**Author:**_Elle.

_**Beta Reader:**_ Dreaming of Everything (ch. 1-2) & Avatar-chik.

_**Warnings:**_ Rated R for language & violence. **No pairings**, occasional OOC (due to medical reasons – **it doesn't last long**).

_**Author's Notes:**_

_**1. Yaoi or Het?**_ The answer is – **neither.** This story has no romance, but I do sympathize with both Relena and Duo (they both appear in the fic), so if you can't stand an author being nice to the character you dislike, it's a shame, but I don't think that this story is for you.

**2.** There's some **Japanese** written in the story. I was trying to get into Heero's head that way. My apologies if the grammar isn't perfect, I'm still a studying the language. After each sentence written in **Romaji**, there's a translation written in parenthesis.

Jaa, minna-san, monogatari wo yonde kudasai. Yoroshiku onegai shimasu! (All right, everyone, please read the story. Thank you in advance!)

Elle. .

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .1.**_

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"Subject's name – Heero Yuy. Asian male of Japanese origin. Age – thirty five years old. Probable cause of death... Well, jeez, let me think...," the pathologist muttered sarcastically as he looked down at the body before him.

The pale corpse, formerly known as Heero Yuy, was lying naked on a metal table inside the L1 Cluster Central Morgue. A hard light above it emphasized a small round wound in the man's chest, filled with clotted blood; the rest had already been cleaned away for the autopsy.

The doctor sighed. "A single bullet to the chest brought on almost immediate death," he spoke into the microphone hanging above the metallic bed, recording the autopsy report for further use.

He picked up a tool to dig the bullet out. Once he retrieved it, he gave it a glance and tossed it away. "The bullet is your standard 7.62x51 millimeter round used by snipers," he muttered carelessly, "Death was most likely due to cardiac arrest caused by the bullet."

He proceeded with the examination of the body. "No other injuries are present... except for a few bumps to the head from the fall."

The doctor circled the dead body, studying it from every direction. "I see no need for in-depth examination of the internal organs."

He stopped to look at the man's face. He shook his head with dismay when he noticed that the man's eyes had been left open. A pair of glassy brown eyes was staring ahead lifelessly. With respect, he reached a hand to close them, but then stopped. Frowning, he bent forward to take a good look into the dead man's gaze.

"It seems he'd been wearing contact lenses," he reported into the mike. "Some idiot forgot to take them out."

He reached two gloved fingers down to gently remove the contact lenses, and his frown deepened. "These are colored contacts—It seems that this man's eyes are actually blue."

Gently, he placed the contact lenses in a bowl next to the bullet. "A Japanese man with blue eyes... this is rare, I think," he thought out loud, allowing the microphone to record his thoughts.

"In any case, that doesn't change the fact that he was shot to death. I think that there's no further investigation needed to determine the cause of death. I consider the autopsy over. Doctor Patrick Hail, April 7, A.C. 175."

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Christmas A.C. 196: An explosion blasted through the skies of Brussels. Struggling to keep the itself in the air, Wing Zero's engines hummed loudly. The deafening sound was overridden by a destructive beam fired at the Presidential Palace.

The explosion was so great that it tore the Gundam apart. Heero's fingers continued pressing tightly on the trigger, sustaining the lethal ray for as long as he could. Wreckage flew into the air, crackling and sparkling around the massive machine.

Within the cockpit, the world of the living vanished with the bright, hot explosion. A flood of yellow light filled the young pilot's head, waves upon waves of yellow dots pouring into his mind. The light drilled into the very fibers of his brain, as though building itself a nest. The pain deepened as the light intensified, reaching every corner of his mind. His nerves flared up in anguish and he screamed, tormented. His cries filled the cockpit, as the whole compartment collapsed on top of him. His hand finally let go of the trigger.

Wing Zero crashed to the ground with a last blaze of glory, leaving behind it a trail of wreckage a mile long.

A dreaded silence hung in the air as smoke slowly rose from the motionless metal giant.

Some of Heero's awareness had to still remain, because he knew that his body was still strapped in the pilot's seat. The pain was so intense that he no longer felt it. The lights in his head went out in a single flash. His mind began to shut down.

_Might as well_, he managed one last coherent thought. There wasn't much left for him now that the war had finished. Life, death, none of it mattered to him. As a soldier, he had played his part. Now that nothingness engulfed him, Heero Yuy surrendered to it with peaceful resignation.

There were some moments of awareness here and there, fragments of reality appearing within the smoke. They were hazed flashes, as if they were a part of a dream: his body moved without him controlling it. Feelings overtook logic and he moved with willpower alone. Powerful feelings forced his broken bones to move. There was one last thing he _felt_ that needed to be done.

He watched himself as though he was watching a stranger. He saw how his body began crawling out of the wreckage, bleeding. Bones cracked as he pushed himself onwards. Tired, part of him begged his body to still. Colors swirled and blurred into the vortex of pain. The gun was too heavy in his trembling hand.

There was a voice, and then another, three of them all in all. He saw the pained face of a little redheaded girl. She was dying, or dead, or neither. She looked at him.

He fired, mumbling a few words his mind managed to salvage from the clutter. The world crumbled, shattering to pieces. He collapsed to the floor. There was a hand, a caress, and then darkness crept in. Blood trickled into his ears. Relena's voice spoke to him, comforting. A blanket of gray, warm nothingness engulfed his broken body. The silence filled him and with relief, he surrendered.

Only stillness remained. Sweet, black silence all around. He slept, curled in its embrace. Bit by bit, his mind crumbled into tiny pieces that were blown away by an invisible wind. No sound, no pain, no thought nor anguish remained. Peace was finally achieved.

In the silence where he lay, time did not exist. Minutes were just days and long nights were mere seconds. Nothing mattered because he knew nothing, was aware of nothing. In his sleep there were no dreams, no thoughts, only silence.

A light flickered somewhere in the distance, as his mind struggled for awareness. Memories began to invade into the black void; they floated around him like clouds. Some clouds were small and passed by quickly. Some were large and heavy, like rainclouds, and forced him to witness a longer, more hurtful, memory.

Gray images of death, pain and destruction played before him. Blurry black and white figures who trained him into a stone soldier. Laboratories, shooting grounds, cold beds and lonely nights. A first beating, a first broken bone, and a first kill. Feelings of regret, guilt, and self loathing, mixed together with pride, ego and the sense of accomplishment. The combination felt wrong and confusing. He saw himself as a child weeping in the corner of a room, hating himself, wishing to be punished.

Good and bad were no longer distinguishable as they had been before. The anguish of his confusion brought him to tears, longing for loving guidance instead of cold, empty words and angry orders. The source of the tears had eventually dried out, chased away by indifference. Slowly, he had learned that there was no room for emotions in his life. And yet–

Pain! Pain, pain, pain! It was all too much! He turned away, trying to escape further into the darkness, to hide from the past that hurt him. How could he feel so much hurt when he had taught himself to feel nothing?

_Please, no more, he begged the darkness, Oboetakunai... I don't want to remember..._

The clouds chased after him, stubbornly haunting him with images of his life. If he had had a voice, he would have screamed with anguish. More and more memories came, silent images in the fog of his mind.

Some of the images he recognized, and some were too distant to remember. Some cut him to the core, and some left him cold and numb. Most of them were gray, reeking of death and despair. He tried to focus on the colorful ones instead. There weren't many of them but they stood out against the gray.

Colorful memories of green parks and birthday balloons. Blurry images of smiles and kisses, bedtime stories and toys. Faces that were alien to him smiled through the colorful mist. He watched, straining to remember, but before anything came to him the clouds faded away and the faces vanished.

Watching them fade left him cold and terrified inside. Alone and shaken to his core, he was left contemplating in the dark.

He had been a small child when he lost his parents. When and how—he couldn't remember. There were memories of fear and the urgency to escape. More than that, he remembered the grief and horror of loss. But that had come much later. He did not realize he had been orphaned until years after.

Most of what he could remember of his early childhood was the difficulties of adjusting to a new life. Language had been one thing he'd had to master fairly quickly, for the man who'd taken him in hadn't spoken Japanese. He remembered the hurt and frustration of not being understood. No one bothered to teach him the new words, everyone simply expected him to understand.

_Wakaranai kara yukkuri hashite! _(I don't understand, so speak slower!) a small, childish voice whined from a distance. Ever since then, he hadn't liked speaking much, because of the fear of being misunderstood.

There was no point pondering over such things. They were in the past, back in the days when he had been unfortunate enough to be alive. Now, hopefully dead, he wished to forget. He drifted away from the clouds floating in the black void. He moved further and further away until there was no trace of the person he no longer wished to be. He remained in comfortable black silence, waiting for eternity to pass him by.

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oooooooooooooooooo _**'Donguri korokoro donburiko...'**_ oooooooooooooooooo

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_**Beep.**_

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oooooooooooooo_** ' O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen...' **_oooooooooooooooooooooo

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_**Beep.**_

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ooooooooooo _**'Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa..'**_ oooooooooooooooooooooooo

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_**Beep.**_

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ooooooooooooooooooooooooo_**'Botchan issho ni asobimashou…' **_ooooooooo

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_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Since there was no sense of time where he lay, he couldn't tell when the beeping began. It might even have been there all along. Short, intermittent beeps that echoed in the dark. The darkness became dark by definition because all of a sudden, he was able to compare it to light. A distant, dim sphere hovered in the vast blackness. The dark became darker, lonelier, compared to the light. And in that shapeless universe he still existed, aware of blackness, aware of sound, of loneliness.

The beeping was a constant to him, sometimes distant and sometimes clearly near. A long time might have passed, or even none at all. The only indication of time passing, of any change at all, was the new sound entering his dark cocoon. The noises were faint, as though from afar. Whispers came floating in an imaginary wind. He could not distinguish any words spoken, but there were quite a few voices involved. A female voice was often present. Usually one male voice made her leave. He listened to the incoherent chatter, coming and going like waves upon the sand. He longed for the silence to return, for peace to cover him like a soft blanket.

The light in the distance was becoming brighter. It drew nearer, or perhaps _he_ was nearing _it_. Whichever the case, he felt a strong reluctance to reach it. The light meant awareness, of that he was sure. The darkness was comfortable. He had no desire to leave.

In the darkness he had no body he could see or feel; it was merely an existence, merely _being_. In an attempt to escape the gradually approaching light, he imagined himself a body: arms, legs, a head and a torso, floating in the blackness, drifting towards the only star in his space. Now that he had limbs, he tried to steer away from the light. If the light represented life, or death, it didn't matter. He had no wish for either of them. His only wish was to remain as he was, alone, resting, unbothered.

His will to escape the light was strong, so strong that it was making a difference. At first, the voices faded away, swallowed by the light in the distance. The steady beeping also subsided, leaving him in a black silence. Encouraged, he willed the light away, and allowed it fade, to extinguish. The light gradually dimmed, until it was gone. Only black silence remained. He curled into himself, like a fetus in the womb, and continued his (hopefully) eternal sleep.

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ooooooooooooooooooo _**'Donguri korokoro yorokonde...'**_ oooooooooooooooo

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_**Beep.**_

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oooooooooooooooo_** 'Shibaraku issho ni asonda ga...'**_ oooooooooooooooooooo

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ooooooooooooooooooo _**'Yappari o-yama ga koishii to...'**_ ooooooooooooooooo

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oooooooooooooooooo _**'Naite wa dojou wo komaraseta...'**_ oooooooooooooooo

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"I promise

I'll make it

worthwhile for you

to wake up,

Heero."

Echoing words gusted by like a hot wind. Memories of life slowly returned. He remembered his life, he remembered the loneliness of living it. No one should be by his side, speaking to him so softly.

He searched for the memory-clouds, and noticed some of them drifting across the approaching dawn in the horizon. A colorful cloud stood out against the rest, though it was tainted with gray. Both the colorful spots and the gray spots showed the same picture, a man.

The colorful picture displayed the face of a kind young man, blond and gray-eyed. The gray picture presented the same face, only grim, and cold. Which one was accurate? Who _was_ that man? Was he kind or cruel? He could never tell. One moment there had been a caress and the next moment a slap across the cheek. A shout, an apology, a cold order and a warm request. Nothing ever made sense with that man.

A haze full of memories engulfed him. A long time ago, that man took care of him. It was before the training, before Dr. J took him in, but after he had been torn away from home. It was a transition in his life he rarely thought about. If there ever was a time he could recall having someone by his side, for no other reason other than to simply be with him, it was that man with two faces.

Odin Lowe was an assassin, a harsh man who sometimes spoke soft words. He killed mercilessly, but he also cooked pancakes for breakfast. The man, who had no room for family in his life, could have easily left him for dead after he had lost his parents, but he hadn't. He kept him under the excuse that he needed a child to help him do his job. But in truth, Heero knew that there was more to it.

In retrospect, as a soldier, he knew that a small child was nothing but a liability. It had occurred to him a few years back that the only person who truly wanted him around had been Odin. As a child he could not appreciate that, he took the man for granted. When he had been eight years old, he found out that Odin had planned to abandon him on some colony, during a mission. It had turned out to be the man's last mission: he had died at the end of it.

He had been left alone and betrayed, with no one to count on but himself. He had lived that way for over nine years, refusing to count even on his fellow Gundam pilots.

If he was a loner, then how come there was someone out there, speaking to him from beyond the black void? He should be alone, in both life and death. Why would anyone care?

Dawn was approaching, invisible light entered his dark universe. The void surrounding him became brighter, painted in light shades of blue dashed with mixed pink and yellow.

Just like that, he had a body again. It ached, and it breathed, and blood pumped through its veins. That disgusting living, breathing body was still alive.

He waited patiently in the dark, in no hurry to return to that cursed body of his. He felt the air in his nose and lungs. He felt his heart beating in sync with the beeping that echoed around him. He waited patiently for it to stop, for his body to die. If he waited long enough, it surely would.

A hand, warm and coarse, glided over his forehead. Another warm palm was squeezing his hand. He thought he saw someone, a man, but then the image faded, as if it had never been there. Awareness and oblivion came and went, life and death swinging back and forth.

The beeping stopped. He tried to reach with his mind towards his body, attempting to determine if it was dead or alive.

His body was warm and comfortable, lying under heavy blankets. The sensation was such a shock that he quickly redrew back into the void, afraid to feel any further. However, whether he wanted it or not, sensation was slowly returning.

The world was moving, rocking from side to side. The movement was soft and soothing. His body was being rocked gently from side to side, like an infant in a crib. The sensation was alluring, he wanted to experience more and more of it. Crawling out of his safe womb, he sneaked under the sheets and into his body. As he basked in the warmth surrounding him, he let out a small, relaxed sigh, melting back into his physical self.

The aches in his body were dimmer now, merely a distant throb of flesh and bone. His limbs were heavy, numb. His head was nestled in a soft pillow.

There was also sound. It wasn't the beeping like before, it was softer, similar to water flowing, like... waves. It was the sound of waves, not upon a sandy beach, but waves clashing against some surface. A wall, a wooden wall. Was he on a _boat?_

He lay still, listening to the mellow sound of the waves kissing the craft. His bed rocked slowly from side to side as the waves moved the vessel.

Taking a short, careful breath, he tested the air around him. It was moist and cold. He let out a small cough and then moaned painfully at the sudden jerk that went through his body. He waited for a while before attempting to open his eyes.

At first he opened one eye, just a tiny slit. The image was blurry and dark. The darkness must mean that it was night. Good, he would have hated seeing the sunlight.

Slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes fully. It took some time for the image to adjust, but when he finally blinked the blur away, he was staring at a plain brown wall. After much thought on the matter, he decided to turn his head the other way. It took quite an effort, for his body refused to cooperate. When he was finally facing the other side of the room, he noticed its triangular shape: the bow of the boat, no doubt.

His bed was at one length of the wall, while another bed just like it was across the room. Together the two beds formed a V shape, which fitted the triangular shape of the room. On the other bed were various objects sitting neatly on a large tray. Most of them seemed like medical supplies, along with bathing utilities such as a sponge and a bowl. Next to the tray lay a metallic bedpan. He stared at it for a while, before cringing at the thought.

He looked down at himself. There was an IV line connected to his arm and the IV bag hung above his head. There was some sort of paper pasted to the ceiling above him. The note seemed very out of place up on the ceiling, but his vision was still too blurry to read it. Besides, his bladder suddenly felt as if it was about to _explode_.

Forcing his limbs to obey, he somehow fumbled out of the blanket and tore the IV out. With great effort he turned to get out of bed, and instead ended up on the floor. His body was so numb that he did not feel the fall. Every muscle prickled with pins and needles, and yet, he pushed onwards, struggling to his feet. The trembling legs soon gave way under him, and he had to catch himself from falling, leaning on the bed for support.

The door was right in front of him, within an arm's reach. His fingers missed their grip on the knob a few times, but in the end he managed to open it. He lowered himself to the floor, dignity set aside, and crawled out of the small cabin.

Crawling on all four limbs, he found himself in a small kitchen. To his left was the stove, and to the right was a door which he hoped led to a bathroom. Using the nearby kitchen top for support, he rose on his shaky feet and turned towards the door. Again his fingers refused to cooperate as he fumbled with the knob. By the time the door opened and he could see the small toilet inside, his legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor.

Unable to move, he remained lying on the floor, and soon began to wet himself. The sensation barely registered with him. He merely stared at the ceiling in confusion, trying to muster a coherent thought from the clutter in his mind.

_Koko wa... nani? Boku ga... dare? Dareka... koko ni iru ka? What... is this place? Who... am I? Is someone here?_

Exhausted, he fell asleep on the cold floor.

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	2. Chapter 2

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .2.**_

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He fired at the palace. Zero crashed. His body broke to pieces, and his mind soon followed. Relena? Was that her? Was she speaking to him? His mind melted away...

What happened? Who did he shoot? What was a 'Zero' anyway? Some kind of aircraft? It sounded familiar. He had read about 'Zeros' in history books. Hadn't they attacked Pearl Harbor? It was a classic case of a 'surprise preventative attack', his tutor had said. Then, had he been involved in some sort of battle? Or had he crashed his plane somewhere, like a Kamikaze? No! No! That was over 300 years ago! Then where was he? _Who_ was he? Why couldn't he remember?

He heard a soft clatter, which soon brought him back to the here and now. Opening his eyes, he slowly turned towards the sound.

A man stood by the bed across the room, arranging various items on it. All he could see was the man's back, which facing him. He was tall, or so he seemed from a lower angle. His hair was black and short. He seemed very well built, wide shoulders and a sturdy torso.

The man turned, wiping his hands with a towel. He appeared to be in his early forties. His features seemed stern, probably because of his well defined jawline. Short stubble grew on his face, and his nose was a bit crooked as well.

When the man finally looked up from the towel, their eyes met.

There was a moment of stunned silence, before the man nodded slowly towards him. "Hello," he said in a baritone voice that ran chills through his body.

Looking up at the man's eyes, he thought about speaking.However, he couldn't remember how to use any words. His mouth was useless; it didn't know how to speak. He waited for the man to continue.

"My name is Nicolai Smirnov." The man introduced himself, taking a step closer to the bed. "I've been appointed by the United Earth Sphere Alliance to take care of you."

That was too much in one sentence. He frowned, staring at the man while trying to sort out the words. Nicolai was a name, the man's name. The man was Nicolai. If he was Nicolai, then who was _he_? And what else had the man said?

The man didn't seem inclined to give any more information. Instead, he approached the bed and leaned down to look straight into his eyes. "Do you know your name?"

His name. Yes, of course he had a name. It was... that thing people called him when… when they needed something. Orders. _Orders!_ His name was used when he had _orders_! What was it again? Which one was it again? There were too many! Kenji? No. Yuuki? No, no, that was from a long time ago, he never liked it anyway. 'Boy' maybe? Boy! That was it! They used that one a lot, no? Who were 'they' anyway? They never gave him a real name. Maybe he didn't have a name. All he had was a –

"C-co..." he groaned with a strained, tired voice, "c-code...name?"

The man seemed troubled by his response. He even paled a little. Then, he forced a smile and shook his head. "Your name is _Heero_," he said slowly, "at least that's what it was the last time I checked."

Heero... Heero, Heero, Heero. That was his name, he'd have to remember that. No, wait, he knew that! Of course. It was the dead guy's name. The one who was assassinated and then the war started. There was a war, right? He... he fought in it, right?

"Can you repeat my name?" The man asked carefully, a hopeful look in his eyes.

Heero (that was his name, now, he'd have to remember that) frowned deeply, trying to remember. The man _did_ tell him his name, didn't he? It was only a few moments ago... what was it again? Oh, yes.

"Ni—cole?" he asked weakly, and then shook his head, "No... it's Ni—co—lai..."

The man, Nicolai, nodded his head in approval. "Good, good. That's very good."

When he noticed the confused look in Heero's eyes, he explained: "It was a small test for your short term memory. You've been in a coma for over nine months, and even with the wonders of modern medicine, that still means some brain damage. The doctors couldn't tell me how bad, though."

Brain damage? Doctors? Doctor J? Was he behind all this? And what was it about a coma? It had been nine months? But... but... it felt as if barely a day had passed since... since what? He couldn't remember. In any case, not enough time had passed. It was too soon for him to return to reality. What was the point, anyway? What were they going to do with him now?

He closed his eyes, sighing tiredly. He didn't want to fight anymore...

"Heero," Nicolai spoke softly, "Can you look at me please?"

He opened his eyes and turned to the man. Nicolai was leaning above him, his face too near for comfort. Heero stared at him blankly, wondering what was it the man wanted him to see.

A moment passed in silence and Heero simply looked at the man's face, studying the wrinkles around his eyes. Nicolai's eyes were bright, a blue or a gray, and they were looking at him as if they expected something from him. What did they want? Were they accusing him of something? Did they want him to do something for them? To kill? To die? To know? To remember? To understand... what?

He thought about his past, present and future. He thought about his mother cooking tamagoyaki for breakfast, about Odin's pancakes and about how he was always late for dinner at the mess hall on the training grounds.

He thought about the first English word he had learned – 'toilet' – and wondered about the last remnants of Japanese he could still remember. He thought about how he used to play with toys, and was later handed a gun. He remembered all about laughing, crying, killing and dying.

A million things raced through his mind in a split of a second, like electricity, like everything was going haywire. A tidal wave of thought and emotion thundered through his head. From within the racket, a distant female voice sang to him:

"Donguri korokoro donburiko

O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen

Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa

Botchan issho ni asobimashou…

Donguri korokoro yorokonde

Shibaraku issho ni asonda ga

Yappari o-yama ga koishii to

Naite wa dojou wo komaraseta."i

(An acorn rolled down and down, he suddenly fell into a pond. Then came the loaches, Hi boy! Come play with us! The acorn enjoyed playing with them, but he soon began to cry, I want to go back to the mountain. The loaches didn't know what to do.)

The overload became too much. His brain short-circuited and his eyes slid shut.

Finally, there was some silence.

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It was raining outside the window. The skies were a dark, menacing gray and torrents of rain poured down to the earth. He stared at it from his seat by the kitchen table, his little legs swinging back and forth as his curious blue eyes drank the sight hungrily, fascinated by the rain.

A large tree towered outside the apartment window, swinging wildly with the wind. Suddenly, behind the tree, a flash of purple split the skies. A few seconds later, a loud sound rattled the window.

His eyes widened with wonder and he turned to look at the man standing by the stove, cooking. In his young eyes, the man was a giant, with bright blond hair and a grim face, and he never liked answering _'stupid childish questions.'_ Still, he had no one else to ask because mommy and daddy had gotten lost somewhere and never came back for him.

"Are wa nani?" he asked in a small, childish voice, "Bakuhatsu no?" (What was that? An explosion?)

The man, who was still cooking even when the weird purple thing made another sound, turned to him with a frown. "English please. _Eigo_ _de_." (_In_ _English_)

Another purple flash split the heavens. He pointed out at the window. "Are mono da." (That thing) He knew Odin would be angry with him for speaking in the wrong words, but he didn't know any other way of saying it.

The man sighed with annoyance. "That's lightning," he explained while he tended the food, "it's very common on Earth."

"Shikashi, bakuhatsu wo kiita." (But I heard an explosion!) he insisted. He thought for a moment and then added, "I hear the boom."

Odin served the food onto a plate. "That's thunder: it's the sound that two clouds make when they collide and make lightning," he clarified, and turned to serve the boy a plate full of spaghetti and meatballs before sitting down as well.

"Kumo ga... futsu—karu... oto da," (the sound of clouds colliding,) Odin said slowly, thoughtfully, as though it was difficult for him to think of the words he had to say, in order to help him understand.

Another lightening flashed.

"Tanudaru?" he asked.

Odin shook his head. "No, _lightning._" When the thunder rolled he added, "_That's_ the thunder."

The boy listened to the thunder and nodded with understanding. He played with his food, rolling and unrolling the spaghetti on the fork. He began mumbling the new words he had learned. "Tandaru... ra—in—ti­n—gu..."

The man sighed in annoyance, "just eat your lunch – shizuka ni." (quietly)

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It was the sound of thunder that woke him from sleep. He could hear the rain pounding against the boat. The craft rocked strongly with the waves.

He opened his eyes, confused as to why he was on a boat. He was lying on his back, and so the first thing he saw was the ceiling above. There was a large note attached to it, reading: 'Your name is Heero. You woke up from a coma. You are on a boat with me, Nicolai. You're safe.'

He blinked, somewhat indifferently. The note seemed oddly out of place now that he remembered who and where he was. He wouldn't admit to himself that he needed the note in order to recall things.

Another rolling sound of thunder rattled the boat. He looked up and saw a skylight in the middle of the room. He could see rainclouds pouring heavy drops onto the window.

"Tandaru..." he mumbled to himself, his mind drifting somewhere in the past.

"I made you something to eat." Nicolai's voice came from behind as the man entered the room, carrying a tray. Heero blinked, shifted his gaze towards the man, and stared at him, baffled.

"No solids," Nicolai continued as he placed the tray on the other bed, "Just some soup." He turned to help Heero sit up, propping a pillow behind him. Heero leaned heavily against the cushion, finding it hard to sit straight on his own.

He frowned at a nagging feeling at the back of his head. Something felt out of place, maybe even himself.

Nicolai placed the tray on Heero's lap and handed him the spoon. "It's not too hot, so it's okay if you spill some."

Heero managed two or three spoonfuls before his hand was shaking too hard for him to continue. He didn't see the point in trying anyway, it required too much of him. His mind was switched-off, refusing to process anything, so he simply didn't care. He stared numbly ahead, while an old nursery rhyme played in his head. A woman was singing, but he couldn't recognize who she was. In his head, he sang along with her.

_'Donguri korokoro donburiko... O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen_..._' _

Nicolai took charge and began feeding him the rest of the soup.

Heero blinked, coming out of the haze in his mind, and turned to look at the man while he fed him. He couldn't even keep his head up straight and had to lean back against the pillow.

Nicolai sat by his side on the bed and placed a strong hand behind the teen's head to lift it up. Heero said nothing and simply allowed the man to support him.

Gradually, as he ate, some sense returned to the blankness in his mind. He shifted his eyes to look at the man next to him, as if seeing him for the first time. Feelings of anger and distrust filled him, and he tensed.

He wasn't sure if he could trust the man, he wasn't sure of anything at the moment. Everything was confusing, blurry and unreachable. He couldn't think straight, and often wandered off.

When he was finished eating, Nicolai quietly got up and prepared to clear the tray. Heero turned to look at him.

"Ore wo mita ka? Dare no meirie... ka?" (You took care of me? By whose... orders?)

Nicolai seemed surprised for a moment, then he frowned and finally nodded. "I told you before. Vice foreign minister Relena Darlian gave me the clearance."

Heero frowned. Did Nicolai just speak Japanese? Or did he ask the question in English? Or was it Japanese? Or... or... what was the man's answer again?

"You got cleavage to take care of me?"

Nicolai almost laughed, but seemed to catch himself before he did. "Clearance, yes."

'Clearance'... that's what he had said, right?

"Miss Darlian couldn't win against the people who wanted you taken off the machines. The doctors worked hard to make sure the damage to your brain would be minimal, but they still didn't give you much of a chance of waking up from the coma. You were semi-conscious for nearly three months, but then you slipped away again. Relena gave up, so I suggested that I take over. You've been here with me for about a month, shifting between a comatose state and consciousness."

Words. Words, words, words! Too many of them! What did he say? She gave up, Relena gave up on him? She... left him with this man? Why? Where were they? What was he going to do with him? Had he been kidnapped? Were they going to train him again? Will they force him to kill more people? No! No!! He didn't want to kill anymore! He didn't want any more training! Couldn't he just keep his heart? Couldn't they just let him keep it for himself?! Why were they doing this to him again?! _Who _were they?! Where was he?! He had to get out of there! He had to get out! _Now!_

"Hanase! Let me_ go!_" he burst out screaming, trying to fight his way out of the bed.

His outburst took Nicolai by surprise. Swiftly, he put the tray away and grabbed Heero by the arms. He had to struggle with the boy to remain on the bed. He was clearly hysteric and was trying to fight him off.

"Heero! Heero – calm down! I'm not going to hurt you! I took care of you all this time, remember?"

"Iya! Shinjirarenai zo! Hanase! " (No! I don't believe you! Let go of me!)

"Calm down! Heero! Heero! You're safe, it's okay. You're safe here with me."

His hysteria grew and he struggled, using all four limbs, trying to push and kick the man away. He knew he wasn't being himself, but he couldn't help it. There was such a mess going on inside his head, he couldn't sort himself out from the muddle.

"How do you expect me to trust you?! Who _are _you?! For all I know I've been kidnapped!"

"Heero, please, I'm only trying to help!"

"Shinjirarenai! Daremo ore wo kamawanai!" he screamed back, "Ore wo mita to ittemo, omea wo shinjinai! Anata wo shiranai! I won't kill for you! You can't make me! Korosu zo!!" (I don't believe you! No one cares about me! ... Even if you say you took care of me, I don't trust you! I don't know you! … I'll kill you!)

Suddenly, he stilled, as if he'd been struck by lightning. His body froze stiffly in Nicolai's grip. He turned to look into man's eyes, and his own blue eyes narrowed slowly as he calmed. The transition was almost surreal. The hysteria slowly faded behind the layer of fog obscuring his mind. He slumped his shoulders, sighing. He simply didn't care anymore.

Noting that Heero had calmed, Nicolai carefully released him. He watched with worry as the teenager sunk into the pillows, apparently exhausted from the struggle. He allowed Heero a few silent moments to catch his breath and compose himself.

The teen released another long sigh, a troubled look in his eyes. "I apologize," he said quietly, turning his head to look the other way, "I don't know what came over me. I'm... not myself." He didn't even know who 'himself' was at the moment.

Nicolai sighed heavily as well. "Heero," he said softly, letting the matter drop, "If you don't trust me, I can arrange for you to speak with Relena."

By now, Heero felt completely indifferent. He really didn't care one way or the other. All he wanted was to sleep. It was as though countless electrical sparks were bouncing around in his head, buzzing and sizzling all around, making a racket. It was exhausting. They cut off his trains of thought and shifted his mind to places he had never visited before. He bounced back and forth between one thing and another, impossible emotions mixing into a hot, boiling, smoldering, burning, stinging vortex of nothing and everything at once. He was consumed by it, and yet he was left hollow.

"Heero?" Nicolai was still waiting for a response.

It was tiring to feel a million things at once. He needed rest, to clear his head and allow _The Sparks_ in his brain to quiet down. Closing his eyes, he turned his head towards the wall, and went to sleep.

Nicolai sighed and bowed his head. Quietly, he left the room.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

It was nighttime when Heero awoke. His head was buzzing and when he opened his eyes everything was in a haze. The world seemed to be reflected in a distorting mirror. Everything shifted, stretching and shrinking, until the world made sense again.

He had to get to his Gundam. There were battles to be fought. He had to end the war so he could finally end his life. He didn't want to keep living so much, it was too painful. Where did he stash Wing? Oh, yes, at the bottom of the sea. He needed to get there, to get to Wing before OZ found it. It should be easy enough, after all, he was on a boat.

But first things first. He needed to get out of bed.

Knowing that the enemy was near, Heero listened carefully for Nicolai moving about the boat. There was silence: he was probably sleeping. It was a perfect opportunity for him to escape.

After much effort he managed to stand by the bed, leaning on it for support. His legs felt a bit stronger now that he had eaten something. He opened the door and took a careful step into the kitchen.

Between the small kitchen area and lavatory door were a few steps that led into a living area. Heero looked up around him, seeing the front windshield of the boat was above the kitchen. All he could see was pitch black, because of the late hour.

He made his way up the few steps and stood in the living area. To his right were a steering wheel and a chair for the driver. There was also a computer console.

Heero climbed into the driver's seat, grateful to be sitting down. He looked out the window by his side, and saw that they were not at sea, but docked at a small marina.

He turned around to reexamine the boat. At the edge of the living room were two staircases. One led up to the deck, and the other led down, probably to another bedroom at the stern, where Nicolai would sleep. He could hear the man snoring.

He turned on the computer and waited for the navigation charts to come up. Examining them, Heero noted that they were in Ireland, traveling along the River Shannon. He frowned. That spoiled his plans. He had left Wing at sea... or a lake... somewhere... along... umm... It didn't matter. He could get there because the rivers always connected to the sea. It made perfect sense, no matter how illogical it was.

The window to his side was also a sliding door. Carefully, quietly, he slid it open and stepped onto the narrow pathway that ran along the sides of the boat. From there, it was an easy jump down to the pier.

The pier was wet with rain and shone under the moonlight. Heero looked around and saw many other boats mooring at the port. He wandered through the harbor, barefoot and wearing only pajama pants. He shivered in the cold Irish air, but it didn't register with his preoccupied brain.

Not a soul was awake and the only sound was that of the waves splashing against the boats and piers. He strolled leisurely along the marina, examining the various boats, all different shapes and sizes.

He stopped when he reached the far end of a long pier that stretched deeply into the river. There was nothing moored it and he could look around without having them block his view. In front of him the River Shannon flowed in a quiet black stream, wide and long, enormous.

Without giving the matter a second thought, Heero backed away a few steps, opened in a short run and dived straight into the freezing water.

The icy grip of the river sucked the breath straight out of him. His body became rigid with shock, but he had a mission to accomplish and no time to spare. He had to get to Zero before (no wait, it was Wing, wasn't it?) before OZ did!

He sunk a few times and forced himself to resurface, gasping for air. Splashing loudly, he swam as fast as he could into the black waters. Sinking and rising again and again, he carried on, determined to finish his mission.

A few meters away from the pier, the effort became too great. He was losing control over his arms and legs. It was too cold. He flapped his arms frantically in an effort to remain afloat. There wasn't much strength left in him. He began to swallow water and cough, sinking helplessly into the river.

He was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into the pit, the black water engulfing him, refusing to let go. At first he tried to struggle, but it pulled him down by force. The air ran out of his lungs. He opened his mouth in a silent scream, the last bubbles escaping from his body. The water poured into him, filling his lungs. He stopped struggling, tired of fighting, and simply allowed the river to pull him down.

Looking down into the darkness, he could see a distant glow. Two blurry orbs of light glowed in the depth of the pit. The orbs were a shimmering bright green. He could recognize that light anywhere. Those were Zero's eyes, looking up at him from the depths. He stared into the mechanical giant's eyes and felt them penetrate his soul. They were angry, those eyes, angry for being abandoned, discarded when unneeded.

In a way, Zero and he were much alike. Both of them were tools of war, built and designed for fighting, killing, destroying lives and winning battles. Perhaps it was fitting that he would end his life at the side of his Gundam, both lying forgotten under dark waters. With profound resignation, Heero decided to give in to the river, and die along with his Gundam, along with his past.

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i To hear the song go to (remove spaces): youtube .com / watch?vttLIUO3VH0M


	3. Chapter 3

_Status:_ Betaed by Avatar-chik.

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .3.**_

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Heero's struggle against the water had raised so much noise that lights turned on in a few of the boats.

Loud steps were heard running across the pier, and then, a loud splash echoed in the night as a man jumped into the water.

People stood on the pier in their nightgowns, looking worriedly at the dark water. One man aimed a large flashlight at the river. The beam scanned the black water for several minutes until a man suddenly emerged from the river with a loud gasp. He took a few deep breaths and dove back in.

A moment slowed into an eternity. Then, the man resurfaced, holding a teenage boy in his arms. The crowd gasped.

Nicolai panted harshly as he struggled to swim the unconscious Heero to shore. A few minutes later, he managed to arrive to the edge of the pier, which stood high above the water.

"Here lad, let me give ya a hand," the Irishman with the flashlight called from above.

Nicolai looked up. Panting, he lifted Heero so the man could pull him up to the pier. Once Heero was safe on shore, two more people helped him climb up as well.

Heero lay motionless on the slick pier, a small crowd surrounding him. Despite his exhaustion, Nicolai hurried to the boy's side.

"I don't think he's breathing," a woman whispered worriedly.

Nicolai said nothing and immediately began performing CPR.

The crowd watched with anxiety until a loud watery cough came out of the boy's throat. Heero curled and retched out water, coughing and gasping for air. The crowd sighed with relief. (i)

"You gave us quite a scare, lad!" One man laughed in relief.

Nicolai looked worriedly at the coughing teen, not even smiling.

Gradually, Heero calmed and his breathing slowed. He looked up at the man kneeling by his side.

"What the hell were you trying to do?!" Nicolai demanded.

Heero stared, his features blank. "Gu-Gundam ga... umi ni aru..." (Gundam… at sea...) He mumbled weakly, and passed out once more.

Nicolai stared sadly at the boy, his eyes now shimmering with compassion. He sighed and scooped him up into his arms.

"You better get him warm, quick," a woman said, a hand over her heart, "and make sure this sleepwalker stays in bed this time!"

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Trembling, he trashed against the covers. He was hot and cold, all at the same time. He was sweating and shivering. His body felt weak, lying heavily on the bed; coughing, panting, soaking the sheets with sweat.

"...Odin…?" He whispered weakly into the darkness, hoping for a reply. He was scared because he didn't know where he was or what had happened. His body was heavy and numb, refusing to move. Warm sheets were wrapped around him but he was still cold. His arm and leg hurt a lot.

He didn't remember anything after the fall. The tree branch suddenly gave way under him and he fell. It was dark when he awoke. His head felt funny and his body really hurt. He was thirsty too.

"Nodo ga kawaita... Kibun ga warui..." (I'm thirsty... I don't feel so good…)

"Shh... anshinshite," A voice whispered back and a hand caressed his moist forehead. "netsu ga aru node yasunde kure." (Relax. You're running a fever so please rest)

Relief washed over him. He was worried that Odin wouldn't come back for him after he screwed up the mission by falling. He was supposed to keep watch from the tree and tell Odin about the target, but then the branch gave way...

"Ninmu wo... kanryou shita no?" (Did I... accomplish... the mission?) He mumbled tiredly, trying to open his eyelids but they were too heavy to lift.

"Hai, kanryou shita. You nailed it, kiddo," Odin whispered back, sounding tired. "Too bad you didn't pick a better tree. You would have saved me a hell of a lot out of these hospital bills."

"Gomen..." (sorry) the child sighed, half asleep.

"You broke your arm and leg, and you have a nasty cut across your other arm. They had to do some stitches."

"Stitches-te... nani?" (what are stitches?) He asked with a slight hint of panic in his voice. The word sounded scary.

"Never mind, don't worry about it. Just try not to move around so much, okay?"

"Mmm..." he managed to softly reply, drifting to sleep. He was warm, comfortable, and he was safe now that Odin was by his side. He wanted to open his eyes to look at the man, but he was so tired...

"Shh... it's okay, get some sleep."

A hand touched him lightly on the forehead.

He jerked up, startled. He looked around, sweat trickling into his eyes, but all he saw was a blurry figure reaching towards him. He drew back, panicked and alert.

"Heero, it's okay. It's just me, Nicolai. You're running a fever; lie down."

The world shifted and swirled around him as past, dream and present mixed into one blurry haze. It was confusing, and yet somehow, it made perfect sense.

A pair of hands gently guided him back onto the pillow. He lay down and shivered.

"Are wo mitsuketa ka?" (Did I find it?) he whispered into the dark. "Ninmu wo kanryou shita... ka?" (Did I complete the mission?)

"There's no mission, Heero. No Gundams, no nothing," a voice replied sorrowfully.

"Sou ka..." He tried to open his eyes, but the fever allowed him to see only darkness. When he closed them again, he saw the dark pit and Zero's eyes waiting for him at the bottom. He sighed mournfully, grieving for his metalic companion, abandoned somewhere beyond his reach.

Finally exhausted, he surrendered to the warmth around him and allowed it to soothe him into slumber.

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It was daytime when he finally awoke. He was warm, his skin still moist with sweat, but otherwise he felt better.

He tried to remember something, anything, but his mind came up blank. He knew something had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was. Something big and dangerous; a battle perhaps? Had he been injured? What about the other pilots? Did Zechs get to them too?

No, wait. He self-destructed, right? He didn't let them capture the Gundams. He called their bluff on the Colonies. He... he should be at the circus, right? No? Where then? It was dark.

"Heero?"

Struggling to open his eyes, Heero blinked against the soft sunlight filling the cabin.

"Heero, can you hear me?" Nicolai was leaning over him, looking deeply into his eyes. Behind the man, Heero could see the note that was still on the ceiling: _'Your name is Heero. You woke up from a coma. You are on a boat with me, Nicolai. You're safe.'_

Yes, he remembered now.

Realizing he'd been staring dumbly at the man, who still waited for an answer, Heero nodded an affirmative.

"How are you feeling?"

He cleared his throat, testing his voice. "Ill."

Nicolai nodded, a grim smile on his lips. "Yes, well, because of that moonlight swim of yours, you're now running a high fever."

Heero continued to stare and Nicolai sighed softly.

"Heero, you jumped into the river in the middle of the night. Do you remember that? What were you thinking?"

Heero blinked. He hadn't been thinking at all. He simply... he simply needed to get to his Gundam. But... how could he have reached it from there?

"I... left Wing at sea..." He tried to explain, but it didn't even make sense to him, let alone Nicolai.

"Heero, the war is over and has been so for over nine months. You helped end it, remember? You destroyed your Gundam, Wing Zero. Do you remember?"

"Of course I remember," he hissed angrily, "Don't take me for a fool."

Nicolai sighed, shaking his head. "It's okay if you're confused. Like I told you before, the doctors warned me that there might be some brain damage; even amnesia."

That, earned the man a glare. "I don't have brain drainage!"

"Damage."

"That's what I said! Don't patronize me! Do you know who I am?! Kodomo janai! Gunjin da! I'm Gundam pilot Zero One! Chikyuu ga nido tsuketa! Coronii mo!" (I'm not a child! I'm a soldier! ... I saved the Earth twice! The Colonies too!)

He hadn't meant to shout, but it just burst out of him. He couldn't control it. The electric sparks were everywhere in his head, burning hot and angry. He felt them bounce off a few hurtful memories that awoke with a furious roar. _The Sparks_ rebounded with glee and ran amok for a while. When he tried to get them in order, they ran around frenziedly until they hit a wall. The wall wouldn't budge and _The Sparks_ sizzled angrily.

Nicolai sat down at the edge of the bed and looked at Heero seriously. He seemed unaffected by teen's outburst.

"Heero, why did you just speak to me in Japanese?"

"It was English," Heero corrected. He looked away, unsure of it himself.

"No, it was Japanese. It wasn't the first time you spoke Japanese to me."

"It was not! And besides, why should I learn English?! I'm just a little boy and you should learn my language, not the other way around! _Baka!_" _The Sparks_ cheered him for the comeback, and jeered at the part of him that wanted them to stop.

Nicolai didn't even flinch. He simply asked, "Heero, how old are you?"

That snapped him straight back into reality. _The Sparks_ switched off in a flash. He turned to look at Nicolai, confused.

"What? I... I don't know..."

"Around seventeen?" The man guessed, raising an eyebrow.

"I suppose..." Heero mumbled, looking away. Something was wrong with him...

"Then why did you just refer to yourself as a little boy?"

"I... I... don't know..."

"You're confused. It's okay; these things happen after a major head trauma."

Head trauma. Wing Zero crashed to the ground. He crawled out of it. He tried to kill that little redheaded girl. He fell and Relena caught him. Brain drainage—no, damage! Brain DAMAGE! From the crash? Wing Zero crashed... He fell to the floor... Relena caught him... then she left him with this man... Nicolai. He was with Nicolai who took care of him and...

"Heero?" The man's voice once again swept him away from the circle of thoughts. What was happening to him? He couldn't control his own mind!

"What's... wrong with me?" He asked as he turned to look at the man. "Odin..."

"Heero, my name is Nicolai."

"Yes, I know..." he mumbled, shaking his head weakly, "I'm sorry, I know... but I... don't know. I'm tired..."

Heero sighed and rolled over to face the wall. He pulled the blanket up to his neck, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

There was still light in the cabin when he opened his eyes again. A skylight let the sunshine in from the center of the room. The light was dim, probably the afternoon sun. He watched gray clouds crawl across a pinkish blue and yellow sky.

His stomach rumbled and he felt sticky with sweat. He needed a shower, and food, and maybe some fresh air. He was tired of sleeping. All he ever did was lie in bed. He wanted out of the room, anywhere. Anything but staying in bed and feeling like an incompetent cripple. (ii)

He saw a bathrobe waiting for him on the bed across the room. There was also a pair of slippers on the carpeted floor. He moved slowly out of bed and slipped into the robe. It was thick and warm and he was grateful for its protection against the cold.

Once dressed, he looked around for a way out of the room. He could hear steps from above, probably Nicolai walking across the upper deck. When he gazed up at the skylight above him, he could see the man passing by it.

Turning to the door, he slowly approached it. He spread the palms of his hands against the cold wooden door and tried to push it open. It didn't budge. Frowning, he tried again, but the door wouldn't move no matter how hard he pushed it.

Panic began to rise and he banged against the door. He punched it until it rattled, but it still wouldn't open. He was locked in! Nicolai locked him there like a prisoner! He had been captured!

"Doa wo akero!" (Open the door!) He screamed, battering against the door in a frenzy. "Dase! Dase!!" (Let me out!)

_The Sparks_ were running amok in his head, scattering into every direction as if trying to escape. They bumped against his skull and shrieked with the anger of being confined. They bounced around his mind, hitting every single memory he had of being trapped, imprisoned, held captive and abused. _The Sparks_ knew exactly where to hit, what pain to evoke to make Heero feel as trapped as they were. They started a chain reaction of one memory after another. A tidal wave of claustrophobic panic overtook the teen and he banged forcefully against the door.

From above, Nicolai's feet pounded against the ceiling as he ran.

Heero whirled around to look at the skylight. He was sure that Nicolai could hear him. "Get me out of here – do you hear me?! LET ME OUT!!" He shouted at the window, his blue eyes frantic.

"Nicolai – I won't be your prisoner – do you hear me?!"

The door whooshed open with a bang.

Nicolai stood wide-eyed and panting in the doorway.

"Heero!" He called and the teen swirled around to face him.

"The door was unlocked, you could've opened it!"

"I tried, but you locked me in, you _bastard_!" _The Sparks_ sizzled madly, burning and scourging his mind.

Nicolai frowned, and his eyes narrowed as he examined the teenager's reddened fists. He looked back at Heero's face. "Did you try using the doorknob?"

In one split second, _The Sparks_ switched off like a television set. Logic resurfaced from the clutter.

Heero stilled, his breath caught in his throat. The doorknob; of course. Why hadn't he thought of that?

Noting that the teen had quieted in shame, Nicolai gave him a kind smile. "It's all right, no harm done."

"I apologize," Heero said calmly, gazing at the floor. "I didn't realize..."

"It's not a problem, really," the man assured, "You can sit in the living room if you'd like."

He nodded, still confused, and followed Nicolai out of the room.

"I'll make you something warm to drink."

Nodding his head for a 'yes', Heero walked up the few steps that led to the living area while Nicolai stayed in the kitchen. He looked around the boat, gazing out of the windows surrounding him. They were moored in a different port and the sun was already setting into the great river.

He settled on one of the couches. Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself to get warm. Nicolai served him a cup of tea and sat down on the opposite sofa.

"Thank you," Heero let out softly and reached for his drink.

"You're welcome," the man replied, amused by the sudden politeness. He allowed the boy to sip his drink in silence before speaking again.

"I made arrangements for you to speak with Relena."

Heero looked up, surprised. "You have?"

Nicolai nodded and leaned back more comfortably on the couch, spreading his hands in both directions. "Yes, she will be available for a call this evening. You'll be able to speak with her in an hour or so."

Speak with Relena... what should he say?

"She was quite pleased to hear that you've woken up from your coma."

Heero did not reply and merely stared at his tea.

"You can also ask her about me, if you'd like."

Yes, yes, that's why he wanted to speak with Relena. Now he remembered. He wanted to know why she left him with this stranger. Oh, that reminded him–

"Where are we headed?" He asked, looking suspiciously at Nicolai.

The man shrugged. "Just up and down the river. I didn't plan a course exactly, just waited for you to wake up."

"Do you live on this boat?"

Nicolai shook his head and then smiled. "No, but it's home away from home," he explained, "I live in a city not far from the river. We'll head back there when you're ready."

"Ready for what?" Heero frowned, distrustful. Was this man going to use him for some ploy?

Nicolai didn't answer. Instead, he got up and went to the kitchen. "I'll get started on dinner. We need to get some real food into you. I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs."

Heero got up as well, his robe dangling off of his slim frame. It was about two sizes too big. "I need to shower," he said, rather demandingly.

"Of course," Nicolai replied from the kitchen, "The lavatory is also a shower. You pull the showerhead out of the sink."

"Convenient," Heero muttered and walked down towards the lavatory door, across from the kitchen. He glared at the doorknob as if it had committed a crime and then reached to open it. It opened without trouble.

"Heero," Nicolai called before he stepped in. Heero turned to face him.

"There's a clean towel under the sink, and the soap is right there for you to see. Do you need any help taking your clothes off?"

"No," Heero grunted and stepped into the bathroom.

He pulled out a white towel from a closet under the sink and turned to examine the various bottles of soap. There was a shampoo bottle and shower gel. Easy enough. He closed the shower curtain to cover the door and turned to pull out the showerhead from the sink. Then he remembered he had to take his robe and slippers off. "_Baka (Idiot),__"_ he berated himself.

After adjusting the water temperature, he stepped under the showerhead and closed his eyes, thankful for the warm water. He opened the bottle of shower gel and smeared it all over his pajama shirt.

A shirt? Oh no! He hadn't taken his pajamas off! He was showering with his clothes on! How could that happen? Was he stupid or what? How could he forget to take them off??

Angry, he struggled to take the wet clothes off and threw them into the sink. He was a fool, a damned, retarded fool! Who showers with their clothes on?! Not even children!

He finished showering, toweled himself off and slipped back into his robe. He hurried out of the bathroom and into his room, shutting the door behind him before Nicolai could start asking any questions.

He lay on the bed, his wet hair dripping water onto the pillow. He lay still and stared ahead numbly. If he'll lie motionless, he won't have to use his screwed-up brain and then everything would be fine.

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A while later, Nicolai knocked on the door. "Heero, dinner is ready. Would you like to eat with me in the living room?"

Heero opened his eyes and blinked. It was later in the evening and the room was dark. He was still lying on the bed in his bathrobe, cold and shivering. He sighed and pushed himself up.

Slowly, he stepped out of the room and into the kitchen. Nicolai turned to look at him. "Didn't you get dressed? I left some fresh clothes on the bed for you."

Heero blinked, mind numb. He hadn't even noticed.

"Go get dressed; I'll put the food on the table."

Without a word, Heero turned and went back into the room to dress. When he switched on the lights, he saw that the clothes were indeed lying on the bed opposite of his. They were arranged in a neat row in the order he was supposed to put them on. He would have complained about it, but it made it easier to remember what came first. There was also a pair of socks. He put them on and stepped back into his slippers.

Silently, he went back to the living room and sat by the table where a hot meal was awaiting him.

"Do the clothes fit you all right?" Nicolai asked as he poured the teen some hot tea.

Heero nodded and began to eat, rolling the spaghetti on his fork. He did it for a while, rolling and unrolling the spaghetti on the fork, for he found it oddly amusing.

Halfway through the meal, a phone rang. Nicolai hurried to reach for the mobile phone. "It's probably for you," he said and handed it to Heero.

He answered the call. "Hai?"

"Heero? Hi, it's Relena." A distant and familiar voice responded.

"Yes, I know."

"I'm so happy to hear your voice. I was afraid that you might never wake up."

Heero remained quiet, searching for words. There was an awkward silence for a few moments before Relena continued.

"Some of the other pilots asked about you after they saw the news reports..."

"What news reports?"

"There were... never mind, it doesn't matter. It's all water under the bridge. The important thing is that you're well. How are you doing, Heero?"

"Fine," he said simply, "Tired."

"I'm sure. Is Nicolai treating you well?"

Heero frowned. "Why wouldn't he?"

"No, I just mean it as a—"

"Who _is_ he Relena? Why did you put me in his care?"

"Heero, I did what I thought was in your best interest. They were about to pull the plug on you; Nicolai was the only person who offered me another solution."

"Solution to what? Speak plainly to me!"

From the other side of the line, Relena sighed. "I couldn't afford your treatments, Heero. And the government no longer wished to offer financial support. There was a big debate about whether or not you should be allowed to live..."

"People wanted me dead?"

"Yes, and nothing I said could convince them otherwise," Relena whispered with a trembling voice. "Your chances were slim anyway; no one thought you'll ever wake up."

"Did you?"

She didn't answer, and that was enough of an answer. He sighed. She should have allowed them to kill him. Now he had to handle living all over again.

"Heero, I hope you can forgive me," she finally said, "Nicolai approached me; he came out of nowhere and said... he wasn't very clear why, but he said he wanted to take care of you. I had no choice but to trust him; they would have killed you."

"I see," Heero muttered, looking up at Nicolai who sat across the table.

"I'm so sorry... I have to go. I'm always so busy... I'll be in Ireland next month; maybe I'll see you then. Take care, Heero. I wish you well;" she said sadly. Without replying, Heero hung up the call.

Nicolai reached to take the phone from Heero and put it aside.

"Do you trust me now?" He asked, looking intently at Heero.

"No," Heero replied, "But what other choice do I have?"

Nicolai sighed heavily and turned to look out the window. "Well, I suppose I can settle for the benefit of the doubt."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Heero lay in bed, staring at the note hanging above him. He kept reading it over and over, just to pass the time. It was late at night and he couldn't sleep. For once, he was awake, his mind finally clear. He felt in control of his own thoughts, at long last, and he feared that if he would go to sleep, the control would slip away from him again.

And so, he simply lay in bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the note above. He kept staring at his name, which didn't feel like it was his at all. The note was a clear and simple evidence of his condition. His identity wasn't his to begin with, that's why it kept slipping away from him whenever his brain started acting up.

The note was also a perfect reminder of his incompetence. He understood the importance of the note, but it still angered him to know he needed it in the first place. Without the note he might one day wake up without remembering where and when he was, and might do something stupid again. He might even hurt Nicolai. He was surprised at himself that he hadn't done that already.

For some reason, he trusted the man to some extent. At the very least, he trusted him while he was able to think straight. The man did rescue him from drowning, and he did, apparently, take care of him while he'd been comatose. In essence, he had no other choice but to trust the man. What else could he do? Where could he go in his condition? He'd get lost the moment he steps out of the boat.

Sighing, Heero turned to lie on his side and stared at the wall. He listened to the boat's fenders pound against the craft with each wave. Nicolai went to bed an hour earlier and the boat was very quiet. The silence did him good; he closed his eyes and simply relaxed.

Just as he was drifting to sleep, he heard noises from above. His eyes snapped open. Someone was walking on the upper deck of the boat.

His body tensed with alertness. He rolled over to lie on his back again and gazed up at the skylight. The window only displayed the black night's sky. No one was passing across the bow. Still, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind. The night was so silent that he could easily pick up any sound.

It might be only Nicolai tending the boat. But then again, Nicolai did inform him that he was going to bed. Could the person above be some sort of an invader? Were they being chased by someone? Is that why they were on a boat, always on the move? It did make sense... Relena did mention that some factions wanted him dead. Was someone there to carry out the sentence?

He didn't know what to feel about that. On one hand he was tense and ready to fight them off, but then on the other hand, he was willing to accept his fate without resistance. There was no point in fighting now that the war was over. Who was he to refuse a death sentence? He deserved it more than anyone else.

He decided to step outside and see what would happen. As he quietly got out of bed, he made up his mind not to resist if there was indeed an assassin looking for him.

Very slowly, he exited his small bedroom and made his way across the living area. When he reached the staircase (more like a ladder) leading to the upper deck, he stopped. Some doubts regarding his resolution still lingered. Perhaps he shouldn't just step out there like a sheep into a slaughterhouse. Should he offer some kind of resistance? Was his life worth at least that much?

He looked up at the glass door at the top of the stairs. He saw a dark figure standing on the deck, smoking. The figure was wearing a black coat that hid him in the darkness, but the cigarette was giving him away. It was odd. No assassin would take a cigarette break in a middle of a mission. Even Odin, who occasionally favored a smoke, waited until the mission was over.

Looking at the figure again, Heero noted something else. The man was holding a phone to his ear.

"Hey, it's me," he heard the man say rather quietly. Heero had to strain in order to hear him.

"Yes, I know, it's been a while since my last call. Things have been kind of hectic around here."

Now Heero recognized the voice; it was Nicolai. Why was he sneaking around at night to speak on the phone?

"Yes, I can talk. He's asleep," Nicolai continued. Heero's fists clenched with accumulating rage. The man _was_ sneaking around! Who was he reporting to?!

"We're mooring at Lanesborough at the moment. We'll be heading to Athlone in the morning."

Heero tried to remember the navigation charts he'd seen, but his memory wasn't what it used to be. The names meant nothing to him. He felt like he was in uncharted territory and the helplessness angered him even more.

"I think it's too early to head back. He's not ready for it yet," Nicolai continued with a sigh and took a long drag from his cigarette.

Ready for what? What were they planning to do with him? He wasn't some tool! He didn't want to be a part of _anything!_ Not anymore. He had done enough already!

"I know you want me back as soon as possible, but until I know it's safe to bring him with me, I can't come back." There was a short silence and then, "If we don't have his trust, then everything we worked for will go to waste, you know that."

That was all the confirmation he needed. Nicolai was planning to use him for some ploy. It made sense. What other reason would the man have to approach Relena out of nowhere and ask to take care of him? People didn't do things out of pure kindness; there was always some dark motive behind things. Like Odin, who had taken him in as a child but still taught him to kill. Like Doctor J who took him off the streets after Odin had died, but only to train him into a terrorist. Now this man was taking care of him in order to get something out of him too. No more! He will break out of that circle once and for all!

"I'm hoping that it will only take another week or so, and then I'll be able to tell him everything. With any luck, he'll accept it."

Oh, there was a slim chance of that happening, Heero decided. He wasn't willing to accept any kind of job Nicolai was planning to offer him, no matter how just the cause might seem. He'd seen enough _'just'_ battles to know better. There was no such thing as a 'just death'.

He'll make his escape first thing in the morning.

"Don't worry; given time, I think Heero will agree to join us."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

i Cold water slows down the oxygen depletion of the brain. Brain death at normal temperatures are around 8-10 minutes before the brain cells die. At colder temperatures, the brain dies more slowly, 20-45 minutes and the body can be resucitated at longer intervals.

ii No offense meant at the handicapped! These are Heero's thoughts not mine. Gomen. ;


	4. Chapter 4

_**Status**__: Betaed by Avatar-chik._

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .4.**_

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Heero woke up by early noon. The boat was already on the move, heading towards a town called Athlone, he recalled.

He showered and had breakfast in the living area while Nicolai controlled the boat from the helm on the upper deck. Heero decided to climb up, for the first time, to examine the boat and his surroundings more thoroughly.

He climbed up the staircase and exited through the glass door. The moment his head passed through it, he could see Nicolai standing by the helm to his left. The man turned to him and nodded a 'hello'.

"It's good to see you stepping outside," he said, smiling. Heero nodded in acknowledgement, not in the mood for talking. There were a few places to sit on the stern of the boat, but he chose to sit up on the roof above the living area. There was a windshield there and he leaned on it for support.

"We're headed to a rather large town today," Nicolai informed him, "It'll be a good chance to refill our supplies."

_Yes, it will be a good chance,_ he agreed. Nicolai will leave the boat and he will be able to escape without being bothered.

"You can join me, if you feel up to it," the man suggested.

Heero didn't answer. He merely sat quietly and watched the scenery change along the River Shannon. Green meadows stretched under a vivid blue sky. It was the month of September and winter approached the shores of Ireland. Still, there were quite a few sunny days left to enjoy.

For the next few hours he simply watched the scenery. The clear water reflected the blue of the sky and waves rippled through the river as the boat progressed. Many swans and ducks swam close to the river bank and various farm animals pastured on soft green grass.

By high noon they passed through a large lake, Lough Ree as Nicolai informed him, not that he cared. The lake was wide, with many islands scattered through it. The islands were small and rich with trees decorated with autumn colors. Green and brown branches curled into the lake, kissing the water.

At lunchtime, Nicolai offered Heero control of the boat and went down to prepare the meal. Heero accepted the offer quietly and stood by the helm. Handling the boat wasn't half as complicated as piloting a Gundam. He followed the charts and marks across the lake. There was no autopilot, which was good because he enjoyed being busy. He considered commandeering the boat and ditching Nicolai on one of the (unsettled) islands, but decided against it. He will have his chance to escape uneventfully in Athlone.

Nicolai brought the food up to the deck and sat down on one of the benches to eat. Heero remained at the helm, eating while driving.

By late afternoon they reached the 'Athlone Lock', which allowed boats to travel either upriver or downriver. It resembled a large water elevator. Once inside, both Heero and Nicolai had to secure the boat. They worked together without exchanging a word. In fact, Heero hadn't spoken to the man throughout the entire day.

Once they passed the Lock, Nicolai took over the helm and steered the boat into a nearby marina. It was a large port with many other private boats mooring there. Heero helped tie the boat to the pier and when the engines switched off, he retired to his room.

"I'm going out to shop for supplies," Nicolai called from behind the door, "Would you like to join me?"

"No," Heero replied, finally speaking, "I'm tired."

"All right, we can do it next time. It'll be good for you to walk around," Nicolai said and waited for a response. When he received none, he finally left the boat.

Heero went to the living area and watched Nicolai through the window until the man left the port and entered the city's streets. He decided to wait for a few minutes so there would be no chance of meeting the man once he stepped outside.

He felt in control of his mind, and that was a perfect opportunity to make his move. He feared that if he'd He feared that if he'd wait any longer, _The Sparks_ in his head would awake and drive him insane once again. Just the thought of _The Sparks_ caused them to rattle a little.

He was aware of the fact that there were consequences for crashing Zero into the palace. He had suffered a major head trauma, and whereas modern science gave him his motor skills back, as well as other higher brain functions, the connections were still severed. Some signals got lost on the way or simply didn't know where to go. He supposed that those were _The Sparks_ he imagined to himself.

_The Sparks_ were chaotic and unpredictable, running around in his head without a destination. The pathways they used to know were blocked and they had to find their way around them. _The Sparks_ always moved slower when they tried a new path. Sometimes, they chose the wrong one and left him confused. Whenever they bumped into something they shouldn't have, memories and emotions overflowed. Sometimes they made thinking so hard; he became confused and disorientated, not knowing where or when he was.

But he could still think; could still move and perform whatever duty was needed. And right now, he needed think straight and get things in order for his escape. He made sure he was dressed in something other than his pajamas. As for shoes, he only had a pair of slippers, but that would have to do. What else did he need? A gun? He couldn't possibly have one right now. He felt almost naked stepping outside without one. He really didn't have anything to take along with him.

With only himself to carry, Heero stepped out of the boat and onto the pier. He walked out of the marina and looked around for any road signs. He supposed that Nicolai was headed into the center of town, where the shops were most likely to be. Following the signs, he headed away from there. While they had entered the city, Heero had seen a bridge over the river and decided to head there. Where exactly he was headed and what he'd do when he got there, Heero had no idea. The important thing was to leave as much distance as he could between himself, Nicolai and the boat.

By nighttime, Heero was wandering aimlessly through the town. The air became much colder after the sun had set and clouds covered the night skies. Fearing that it would rain soon, Heero sought cover in a hooded bus stop. He sat down, grateful for the rest.

People passed by, hurrying to wherever they were going. Buses came and went. The traffic peaked at some point before the streets emptied again. Rain began to pour down hard, making the roads slick. Heero watched the wet asphalt reflect the streetlights as puddles gathered in potholes across the road. The longer he stared, the more his eyes glazed over until his mind slowed to a halt.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

He was hungry. He hadn't eaten in days. How could he have eaten? J had locked him in a secured room and chained him up with shackles to a large boulder in the center of it. His assignment was to escape as fast as he could, before starvation would kill him. But his ten-year-old body was no match for the shackles and the rock. At first he had struggled and ended up breaking both of his wrists. That had been three days ago. He knew that because Dr. J also put a large clock on the wall in front of him.

The assignment was illogical; it was impossible for him to break free. He had tried everything he had been taught thus far, but nothing worked. He tried to think of other ways, using every bit of creativity he had in him, but they all failed. As time progressed, thirst and hunger overpowered him. After three days of struggling, he came to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do. Unless J would let him out sometime soon, he'd die right there, starved and exhausted.

After accepting the fact that he would probably die in that room, he simply lay still and waited for death. It wasn't as frightening as he expected it to be. He had seen enough death in his young life to know that when it happened, swiftly or not, there was nothing that could be done to prevent it.

He was so hungry. His stomach cramped painfully every now and then. The pain told him that he was still alive, but he found little comfort in that.

How much longer would it take for him to die? Why was his body so stubborn, refusing to surrender to the darkness? Things would be so much better once he was dead. He couldn't wait for that release.

He was so hungry... he couldn't stop thinking about food. He missed Odin's spaghetti and meatballs. It was his favorite thing in the world, especially when he sprinkled cheese all over it. The cheese would melt into the hot pasta and when he'd pick it up with his fork, it would stretch into a long string of cheese.

He wanted to eat so badly... the craving was driving him mad. His mouth was too dry to water, but he felt the stale taste of hunger in his mouth. His lips were cracked and bleeding from thirst. He licked them with a heavy and dry tongue. He could kill for the pancakes Odin sometimes made for breakfast.

He never should have agreed to go with Dr. J. He shouldn't have followed the burning need for revenge. Odin had told him that if he'd follow his emotions he would never regret what he'd done. That was a lie. Just like all the other lies and promises Odin had given him, promising to_ 'always keep you around'_.

After Odin died, all he wanted was a purpose, and avenging the man's death seemed like a good purpose at the time. He didn't know what else to do with the grief. He simply followed J, who promised to make a soldier out of him.

Now, two years later, it seemed that all J really wanted was to push him to his limit and see when and how he would finally break down and die. He had survived many tests over the course of his training, but this one was the worst. If J's purpose was to simulate captivity by the enemy, he didn't understand why he was making all the efforts to make escape impossible.

Every prison could be broken out of; he knew that, J had taught him that. He found it hard to believe that any military organization would take the time to shackle him to a _boulder_. Perhaps all J wanted him to do was experience and accept death. If that was the case, he really didn't have to go through all that trouble. He had accepted death long ago.

Time and place shifted, memories swirling and reforming at a new point and era. He was no longer at J's lab. When he opened his eyes, he saw the pitch black darkness of an OZ prison cell. Somehow, all four dimensions shifted and left him trapped on the moon base once again, along with two of the other pilots.

The shift seemed perfectly logical after it happened. He simply knew where and when he was, and disregarded the previous experience. Such things usually happened in a dream.

"Fuck... I'm so hungry I could eat a Gundam!" Duo whined into the darkness, his voice light as if he was making a joke.

Heero lay still on the floor with his eyes closed as he listened to the other pilot.

"We've been here for like – forever! Don't they have some sort of treaty that says they're supposed to feed us? God damn! I could eat a whole restaurant!"

Once again, Heero opened his eyes and tested the heavy handcuffs binding him. They were as thick as a wall and long enough to cover his entire forearm. There was no way he could break out of those handcuffs. He didn't even bother trying; he knew his limits.

"Stop whining, Maxwell!" Wufei's voice snapped from another dark corner. "This is a prison cell, not a vacation resort!"

Heero closed his eyes again. There was no point keeping them open in the pitch black darkness. He tried to ignore the hunger drilling through his stomach.

"Easy for you to say, _Chopstick_! You just meditate all day, what do you need food for? Right, Heero?"

Licking his cracked lips, Heero opened his eyes at the direction of Duo's voice. "Try not to think about food," he said calmly, "I'm sure Trowa will come by soon."

But when he closed his eyes again, he couldn't follow his own advice. All he could see in his mind's eyes was a steaming plate full of – spaghetti and meatballs.

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Lightening split the skies and thunder rolled. _The Sparks_ jerked awake. Heero's eyes snapped open, but they lacked awareness. It was as if the light had been switched off in his head and many other lights flickered on as emergency lighting. Perhaps it was the thunder, or perhaps the hunger and exhaustion, but for whatever reason, in a split of a second, Heero forgot who, where, and what he was.

He blinked, coming out of the trance, and looked around. He couldn't recognize the street, but he understood that he was sitting alone in a bus stop with nowhere to go and no one to return to. That understanding guided _The Sparks_ to only one conclusion, based on what they remembered: Odin was dead and now he was alone, left on the streets of colony X18999.

The pouring rain and the Earth's sky didn't help counter that assumption. He simply accepted the fact that he'd been abandoned, betrayed and left to fend on his own on the colony. Still, some logic remained and he knew, without knowing how he knew it, that if he stayed on the streets for too long he'd run into Dr. J. The training would begin and the hurt would come back all over again. He had to escape before J found him! He couldn't bear going through those seven years of torture again!

Swiftly, he jumped to his feet, sprinted out of the bus stop and into the rain. He ran as fast as he could, without any direction – running felt safe enough.

_The Sparks_ flashed wildly in his head, encouraging him. They told him that it was the right thing to do. In an effort to help his mind sort out a plan, _The Sparks_ searched for a memory to guide them. Many recollections of escape, urgency, danger, and purpose filled his mind. He knew only one thing: if he found Wing, he would be safe. J wouldn't be able to harm him once he was behind the Gundam's controls. He'd blast through anything that tried to hurt him, he'd blast them all to pieces! No one would dare lay a hand on him again; no one would be able to use him as their weapon ever again!

But where was Wing? Where did he stash it this time? He already searched the ocean, hadn't he? _The Sparks_ confirmed. Where else could he look for it?

He slowed his run into a stroll and took his time to look around. He was on the bridge again, crossing over the river. Some cars drove past him and a few pedestrians walked down the street, holding an umbrella and looking at him oddly for standing in the rain.

"Excuse me," he asked a woman who was staring at him from across the road, "Have you seen Wing?"

The woman quickly turned away and hurried to leave. He frowned, and turned to the next person.

"I'm looking for Wing, have you seen it?" He asked again, helpless, confused. Why wouldn't anyone help him?

"Can't you see it's raining, kid? Your dog's probably home by now," a man muttered and hurried on.

But he didn't have a dog; he was looking for Wing. How could people miss something as big as a Gundam?

"Excuse me, miss," he ran towards another lady, "Have you seen Wing anywhere?"

"What are you – crazy?" The woman called and shook her head. She quickened her pace and hurried to distance herself from him. "Go home!"

Home? He didn't have a home. His mommy and daddy got lost one day and never came back. All he had was Wing. Where was it? He needed to find it! Wing was home.

Now completely at lost, he stopped to think where Wing could be. If it wasn't somewhere where people could see it, it was probably hidden well. Wait a minute... didn't he leave it underground? Like Trowa had done in Versailles? Of course! It made perfect sense! What other place would be suitable to hide a Gundam in a town such as this? He needed to get underground and find it.

He wandered through the streets for a while longer, looking for some sort of underground passage. He finally came across an underground pedestrian tunnel in the middle of the main street. Pleased with his finding, he walked into it.

The tunnel was short and Wing was nowhere to be found. A few people were waiting there for the rain to stop, but aside for them, it was empty. Now what?

Exhausted and perplexed, he leaned on the tunnel's wall and slid to the floor. Sitting down, he brought his knees to his chest and hugged them. He had to take some time to think.

Nothing made sense. He remembered running away from something; from a future that was actually in the past. He ran away from J, which meant that he was before his training but after... after… after Odin had died. He had died and left him all alone – again! No, wait... that couldn't be right. Why couldn't he make sense of things?

He looked around, confused. The tunnel was now empty, with only flickering fluorescent lights to keep him company.

He hugged his knees tighter and buried his head on top of them. He couldn't focus on anything. His mind simply ran in circles, asking the same questions over and over again.

None of the confusion would have happened if Odin hadn't left him. Why did he have to die?! He said he taught him everything he needed to know in order to survive, but he hadn't given him a purpose! What was he to do out on the streets all on his own?

Sure, he completed the mission and left the premises without being detected. That had been the last purpose he had to fulfill. Now what will he do? Where will he turn to? He was stuck on a colony that was still under construction! He was a wanted fugitive, with no fake papers to help him leave the colony. He didn't even have a name!

"Doushite Odin ga shinda ka?!" (Why did Odin die?!) He called out desperately as his body quivered with dry sobs. He threw his head back and stared at the ceiling, trying to fight off the tear he was never allowed to shed.

"Nanimo wakaranai... Doushite boku wo misuteta? Naze Odin ga shinda?" (I can't understand anything... Why did you abandon me? Why did Odin die?) He mumbled helplessly, gazing up at the ceiling. Tears began to slowly slide down his cheeks, salty streams of grief that were finally allowed to shed.

"Doushite shinda no? Dou shiyou? Oshiete kureru... Odin..." (Why did you die? What should I do? Please tell me... Odin...)

He felt small, lost and alone. The confusion was breaking him apart from the inside out. His mind was shattering, piece by piece. Even the words he was speaking stopped making any sense to him.

"Hitori de itakunai... onegai... ikanaide... onegai..." (I don't want to be alone... please... don't leave... please...)

"Hey, lad, are you alright?" An Irishmen suddenly asked, but the words were unfamiliar to him. He didn't even turn to look at the man and continued staring upwards.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the voice insisted, "Do you need any help?"

"Eigo ga wakarani... Anata no hen na kotoba wo kikitakunai..." (I don't understand English... I don't want to listen to your strange words...) He muttered back, but still didn't shift his gaze from the ceiling. The tears kept flowing down his face, but he wasn't sad anymore, simply lost.

"Is everything alright?" A woman's voice joined the first one.

"I don't know, he won't respond. He keeps mumbling in some other language."

"It sounded like Japanese; maybe he's a tourist." The woman suggested, "We should call someone."

"Good idea." The man agreed and pulled out a mobile phone.

Heero turned to look at the two, his blue eyes seeing but not-seeing what went on around him.

"You poor boy, you're soaking wet," the woman said and took off her coat. "Here, you must be freezing." She kneeled by him and covered him gently.

The warmth was very much welcomed. He gripped the coat tightly and brought it up to his face. The scent of a woman's coat, warm and comforting, snapped something inside him.

_'Donguri korokoro donburiko..._

_O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen..._

_Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa..._

_Botchan issho ni asobimashou…'_

A dam in his mind suddenly cracked and exploded. The water came gushing out and rocked his body with violent sobs. He began weeping loudly. His sorrowful cries echoed throughout the tunnel.

"Yes, we're in the underground passage," the man spoke into his phone. After looking down at the sobbing boy, he added: "You better bring a shrink with you too, las."

Moments later the tunnel was filled with people crowding around the teenager. Two police officers, a man and a woman, cut through the crowd and approached the boy. He was no longer weeping, merely sitting curled into himself, gazing blankly ahead. His lips soundlessly mouthed the song playing in his head.

'Donguri korokoro yorokonde...'

The female officer kneeled in front of him, her eyes full of compassion. "My name is Leslie. I'm here to help you."

Slowly, he looked at the woman and studied her freckled face and curly red hair. Once he realized he didn't know her, he cast his gaze down again.

"Do you understand me?" Leslie asked slowly. Behind her, the male officer was waiting impatiently.

"Eigo ga wakaranai." (I don't understand English) He insisted, even when the words she spoke made perfect sense to him. His mind simply refused to answer in the proper language. English was beyond him at the moment.

"He's Japanese," the other officer commented, "You think we need Kim to translate?"

Leslie shook her head, "Kim is _Korean_, Duncan."

The man snorted and rolled his eyes. "Big difference."

The woman ignored him and turned back to the troubled boy. "We're going to take you with us to the station. You'll be warmer there and we can sort everything out, alright?"

She reached her hand out to him, he hesitated before taking it. She helped him up to his feet. He was still holding tightly onto the coat.

"Excuse me." The woman who owned the coat took a step forward. He understood the hint and handed her the coat back. His movements were stiff and his eyes glazed over. He was running on autopilot, responding without thinking, without understanding. His mind was dark, empty.

"Come on," Leslie said softly and guided him by placing a hand on his shoulder, "The car is right outside."

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"Do we have his name?" The Chief of Athlone Police asked his two officers after they brought the boy into the station.

"No," Leslie replied, "I don't think he understands any of what we say to him."

"I think he's retarded or something like that," the male officer, Duncan, added distastefully.

"He might be," she agreed.

"And he has no identifications on him?" The Chief asked.

"Nothing," Duncan said, "he wasn't even wearing shoes!"

"He could have escaped from the local hospital; make some inquiries there."

"What should we do with him in the meantime?" Leslie asked, concerned.

The Chief looked up from his desk and out the office's window. He saw the boy sitting quietly by Leslie's desk, staring at thin air.

He sighed and turned back to his officers.

"Keep him here until your shift ends; maybe someone will come for him. If not, drop him off at the hospital."

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	5. Chapter 5

_**Status:**_Betaed by Avatar-chik.

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .5.**_

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He wandered through the streets for days, walking past one construction site after another. The whole colony was under construction. The workers didn't even spare him a glance. They were so caught up in their work that even a wandering child didn't catch their attention. All the better, he should remain hidden from sight as much as possible.

It was hunger that drew him out of his hiding place, in an abandoned construction site. He hadn't eaten since the day Odin had died. At first, he didn't have an appetite, but after a few days, the hunger developed. His body could no longer sustain itself on the feelings of betrayal, grief, and anger alone.

There weren't any shops on the colony and he didn't have any money. Odin taught him how to hunt once, but long ago when they had a mission on Earth. There weren't any wild animals on a colony, not even cats or dogs. His only chance was to steal, perhaps from the military base which also supplied food for the construction workers. With any luck, he could sneak into the base without being detected.

He stumbled here and there while walking towards the base, too weak and hungry to even walk properly. He had barely slept since Odin's death. He had spent the nights staring into thin air, his mind empty. He missed Odin's spaghetti and meatballs. He would give anything for another meal with the man sitting across the table, skimming over his mission plans.

He sighed, which was quite unlike him, and shook his head. He needed to pull himself together. What kind of soldier would he be if he gave in to childish aspirations?

Nevertheless, he _was_ a small child and his mind sometimes amused itself with dreams and hopes. He thought about how wonderful it would be if suddenly Odin would appear from around the corner and smile that goofy smile he had when he got busted doing something wrong. He'd rub the back of his head in embarrassment and say he was sorry for getting lost during a mission.

Of course, he knew that Odin didn't get lost. He was right where he had left him – dead on the floor of one of the buildings at the base. He also knew that there was no chance of seeing him again because he blew up the building, using the explosives Odin had planted in the command center. That had been his final mission. Now his mission would be solely to survive.

It wasn't fair, but nothing in life was ever fair. Losing his parents had been unfair, and now Odin was dead too. Everyone ended up dead around him, and it hurt. He tried not to feel the pain, but his small heart was only eight years of age. It still felt; still bled; still hoped. Somewhere in the depths of his heart there was still hope that it had all been a nightmare and when he'll open his eyes again, Odin would be there rebuking him for oversleeping.

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"Hey, wake up," a soft female voice called to him.

Heero opened his eyes. He found himself leaning on a desk, drooling all over a bunch of paperwork. Quickly, he straightened back in his seat, and looked at the woman. He had no idea who she was, or for that matter – where _he_ was.

"What is this place?" He croaked, his voice rough from sleep.

The woman, a policewoman he gathered from her uniform, seemed astonished.

"You can speak English?!"

He frowned, annoyed. "I just did, didn't I?"

The officer seemed relieved and let out a small laugh. "Yes, yes you did."

"What am I doing here?" He demanded, scanning the police station with a swift gaze.

"You were strolling the streets in the rain, disoriented. We brought you here to try and help you."

Heero strained to remember, but his mind came up blank. The last thing he could remember was planning to escape from the boat.

"I'm glad to see you came back to your senses," the woman said and pulled out a chair so she could sit by him, "Can you tell me your name?"

He considered replying truthfully, but then thought against it. Instead he gave her the first name that came to mind: "Duo."

"Duo?" She raised an eyebrow, skeptic.

He berated himself for giving her a name that was too unique. Plus, it didn't really coincide with his Asian appearance. Although, he felt like two different people at the moment. If the name wasn't already taken, he would have found it suitable.

Sighing, he shook his head. "No, it's Heero."

"Heero," she repeated, pleased, "It's nice to meet you, I'm Leslie."

He really didn't care for her name. All he wanted was to get out of there. Police stations made him cranky. He'd been arrested once, back on colony X18999 when he stole some food from the military base. That experience hadn't been a very pleasant one, even when they had eventually let him go. Back then they had bigger fish to fry, such as searching for the terrorists that attacked the command center. Little did they know that he'd been the one responsible.

But why was he reminiscing? What had he been thinking about before? Oh yes, getting out of the police station.

"May I leave now?" He asked the woman, adding an impatient glare just for the effect.

The officer shook her head. "I'm sorry, but the Chief wants you evaluated by a doctor."

'Doctor'; just hearing the word made him want to cringe.

"No thank you, I'm fine." He stood up. Leslie stood up as well.

"I'm sure you feel fine now, but you're still a minor and we can't let you go unless your parents come for you. If you give me a phone number at home, I can make the call for you."

"I don't have any parents. Just let me go," he said with irritation, upset at the mere mention that he was 'still a _minor_'.

"Heero, even if you ran away from home, I'm still obliged to inform your parents. You can't leave yet."

He turned to look at her, his blue eyes burning intensely. "What don't you understand? I _have_ no parents; I'm old enough to take care of myself. I've been doing it for long enough, believe me. I don't need your permission to leave, I'm simply being polite. Stand in my way and you'll regret it."

His voice was cold and eerily calm. It left the woman gaping at him, completely shocked. Heero used the opportunity to walk past her and leave.

"Wait!" she called after him, whirling around. All she managed to see was the boy's back disappear behind a corner that lead to the elevator room.

As Heero walked past the corner and into the elevators' hallway, one of the elevators' doors opened. Nicolai stepped onto the floor, his face grim.

Heero halted, surprised. Just then Leslie came running from behind the corner.

As Nicolai spotted her as well, his features immediately softened. He placed a hand behind his head and laughed sheepishly.

"Heero, there you are!" he called out in over-acted relief, "I'm so sorry I let you get lost like that!"

Heero stared at the man, unable to decide what to make of his strange reaction. Behind him, Leslie cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry, are you this boy's father?"

Nicolai pulled his hand from behind his head and extended it into a handshake. "Nicolai Smirnov, I'm Heero's legal guardian."

"Oh," the woman let out, half confused, half relieved. Heero just scowled at the whole thing.

"We picked up your boy at Main Street; he seemed very disoriented," she said, raising and eyebrow in question and expecting an explanation.

"Yes, I know, it happens sometimes. I can explain."

"_Please do_," Heero muttered, shaking his head with disbelief. Who was Nicolai trying to fool?

Leslie lead the two into the Chief's office. Before they entered, Nicolai turned to Heero and kindly requested that he would wait outside. Heero brushed him off with a glare and entered the office. Sighing, the man followed him in.

"Mr. Smirnov, is it?" the Chief asked as the two shook hands. He gestured at the seat in front of his desk.

"Yes," Nicolai said and sat down.

"And he's your boy?"

"Yes," he nodded, "I was on my way here to report him missing. Imagine how relieved I was when I walked out of the elevator and there he was."

Meanwhile, Heero stood at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. He watched to the scene play out, reminded of times long ago when a different man had to make similar excuses to policemen and doctors.

_'The kid was playing on a tree, you know how five year olds are – he fell. But I should have paid more attention to him, you're absolutely right. It won't happen again, I assure you...'_

Heero looked up at the man sitting on the chair in front of him and frowned deeply.

"Heero was in a car crash about a year ago," Nicolai explained, "the doctors did the best they could, but there were some things that are beyond modern medicine. He gets confused sometimes, that's all. I should have paid more attention to him, I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I assure you."

The Chief nodded gravely. "I understand. Mr. Smirnov, please don't take this the wrong way, but I still need to ask you for official papers. It's standard procedure."

"Of course," Nicolai said and pulled something out of his coat's pocket. He handed a few folded papers to the Chief.

Heero tensed, ready to run if necessary. It was an old habit. Sometimes Odin's papers weren't convincing enough and they had to make a run for it. It was strange how he felt that same urgency now.

Leslie also seemed to be paying close attention to the Chief's face as he skimmed over the papers. Finally, the man nodded and handed Nicolai the papers.

"It looks legit. I'm sorry for the trouble. You may leave."

"Thank you," Nicolai said and shook the man's hand again. He got up and turned to Heero, a fake smile plastered on his face. "C'mon, let's go home."

The situation was too much of a déjà vu. It made him numb somehow. _The Sparks_ were pushing against a thick wall with all their might, trying to force his mind to some conclusion. But the wall was too thick, too well guarded. It refused to surrender to speculation. Those walls had been erected long ago and for a good reason. They were a protection against an invading force Heero couldn't afford to encounter: hope.

He followed Nicolai quietly out of the building.

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It was almost dawn and the air was crisp and cool. Since Nicolai traveled by boat, he didn't have a car present and they had to walk back to the marina. Nicolai lead the way and Heero followed silently. The man had given him his coat and he held it close to his chest so it would not slip off of him. His nose filled with the scent of cigarettes and aftershave. It was a mixture of odors that nudged something in the back of his mind. Again _The Sparks_ charged at the wall. Heero ignored their efforts. Many have tried to break through that wall, including Relena, Duo, and even himself. It was unbreakable.

Looking up at the man's back walking ahead of him, Heero could feel the tension in the air. Nicolai was obviously upset, or even irate. He could tell by the way the man was walking. He usually wasn't so receptive of people, but for some reason he could read the man's body language easily.

"I know you were trying to escape Heero," Nicolai ended the silence with a disappointed statement, but continued walking without turning to look at Heero. They were almost at the river bank, approaching the bridge.

"I just don't understand _why_," he continued, the frustration clear in his voice. "What reason have I given you to distrust me?"

Heero didn't answer; he didn't feel it was necessary. They continued walking in silence, crossing the bridge as the first rays of sunlight lit the horizon.

At the middle of the bridge, Heero stopped and turned to look at the sunrise. Behind Athlone's ancient buildings, the sky was painted a beautiful pink and blue. A few birds flew past the river, and down by the water, swans searched for food.

Nicolai noticed that Heero had stopped walking and did the same. He waited patiently, leaning on the stone banister as he studied Heero's face. The teenager seemed deep in thought.

"Who _are_ you?" Heero finally asked, turning to Nicolai with a troubled look in his eyes. "What business do you have with me?"

"Business? I have no _business_ with you Heero," Nicolai replied bitterly. He pulled a cigarette box and a lighter out of his back pocket.

Heero didn't see the point in asking anymore useless questions. Nicolai was obviously not going to answer them.

He continued to stand a few steps away from the man, as Nicolai turned to face the river. Leaning on the thick stone banister, the man exhaled a long string of smoke and gazed down at the river. The bridge was overlooking the port and Heero could spot their boat from where he stood.

"You know," Nicolai suddenly said, "I once watched this documentary series where they interviewed a bunch of children from all over the world: New York, Moscow, Tokyo... everywhere. They filmed them when they were young children; and then came back to film them again seven years later when they were in junior high. Then they came back another seven years later to check up on them, and so on."

"What are you _talking_ about?" Heero interrupted, annoyed.

"It was interesting to see how they changed. I mean, it's amazing how you see this little kid and then seven years later, it's still the same face but only grown up. They turned from these tiny people to an actual person."

"Don't all children grow up eventually?" Heero commented dryly, trying to figure out where Nicolai was going with his story.

The man took a long drag and exhaled the smoke slowly. "What was really amazing was when they asked the children what they wanted to be when they grew up. They all said that they wanted to follow in their father's footsteps. If their father was a rice farmer, then they wanted to grow rice. If he was an engineer, they wanted to become one too. If he was a soldier, they wanted to join the army."

Nicolai sighed and threw the cigarette bud down to the water. "But when the same children were asked that question seven years later, they decided that they wanted to do something different with their lives."

He turned to look at Heero, "I just want to make sure you're also given the chance to change your mind. That's my _business_ with you."

Heero stared, completely dumbfound. "I don't follow."

Nicolai didn't answer. Sighing deeply, he shook his head in discontent and pushed himself off the banister. "Come on, let's get going. You're probably starved after all of this."

Heero waited for the man to take a few steps forward, and then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, followed him to the boat.

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After breakfast, Heero waited by the table until Nicolai finished washing the dishes. He then waited for him to retire to his cabin to sleep. Only after he was sure that the man was asleep did Heero go to his own bedroom to catch some much needed rest. He felt safer knowing that Nicolai was also sleeping; that way the man was less likely to do something suspicious.

Despite his fatigue, he couldn't bring himself to sleep. Lying in bed, he stared at the skylight and watched the rain clouds drift across the sky. He pondered over what Nicolai had said on the bridge. It made little sense to him. What difference did it make to the man if he'd continue living as a solider or change into someone else? Besides, how could he possibly change? It was all he ever knew.

There was more to what Nicolai had said than the words he had spoken. He was hinting at something, but Heero refused to take the hint. There were too many consequences to accepting what was being said between the lines. The mere consideration of the matter threatened to break his heart. It was better to remain ignorant and let sleeping demons lie in the past.

Rolling over to lie on his side, he closed his eyes and forced his mind to relax. He was extremely tired, but thoughts continued running frantically through his head. He lay still for what felt like hours. Finally, his mind calmed and sleep slowly crept in. That's when he heard Nicolai's voice from behind the door.

"Hey, it's me. How are you?"

Heero opened his eyes and listened. The man's voice was coming from the living area. It sounded like he was on the phone, because he couldn't hear a response.

"Yeah, I had a rough night too. Heero got away and I had to search for him for the past twenty four hours."

Nicolai was reporting to someone again. In an instant, the trust Heero had felt towards the man disappeared once again. After the conversation on the bridge and the pancakes for breakfast he had nearly forgotten why he had escaped in the first place. He wasn't safe.

"No, no, he's back with me. Everything's fine. I think he's just confused, that's all. He even called me 'Odin' a few times since he woke up from the coma." A pause, and then: "No, I don't think he understands what's going on yet. His mind is all jumbled up, he needs more time. He even went looking for his Gundam once."

Heero felt a pinch in his heart, a hurt for being accused of being inferior. He didn't like Nicolai's tone of voice at all. If he was expecting him to recover quickly so he could perform some sort of duty for him, then he could forget about it. He'd do everything in his power to pretend that he's still 'confused'. At least until he could come up with a proper escape plan.

"Yes, I know we're running out of time, but we still have another month before that happens. I— Wait a second," he suddenly said with alarm.

There was a long pause before the man continued, "No, no, it's nothing. I thought I saw a couple of thugs checking out the boat. It's probably just a few drunken kids. There are pubs all over the place."

The man was silent while the other person probably spoke. He then continued, "Don't worry, I'll be back before that happens," he promised, "I just hope Heero will agree to come with me. I don't want to force him into anything."

But people were always forcing him into one thing or another. Nothing he did was ever good enough for people. Even after seven years of training with Dr. J, they found him lacking of the skills to be their 'perfect soldier', and retrained him. Everything had been tougher, rougher, and more brutal than the first time.

Then, he ended the war for them. He nearly sacrificed his life while self-detonating in Siberia. He barely survived while trying to save the Earth from the falling piece of the Libra station. But that wasn't enough either. They started another war a year later and he nearly died stopping that one as well.

Surviving Wing Zero's crash against all odds, he woke up to find himself caught in the webs of another ploy, another war perhaps, another person expecting him to exceed himself for some cause. When was it going to end? He was nothing but a tool, wasn't he?

Nicolai had mentioned that they had a month before whatever needed to happen would occur. He'd have until then to gather his strength, form a proper plan, and get the hell out of there before Nicolai would use him too.

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	6. Chapter 6

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .6.**_

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Days passed. Heero spent most of his time up on deck, sitting at the stern and watching the landscape change. Ireland was beautiful, abundant with green hills and endless meadows. Once in a while they sailed past ancient ruins, which truly mesmerized him. There was something about watching ruins from the past that made him feel as though there was something bigger, more profound about life that he simply couldn't grasp.

Each morning Nicolai allowed Heero to navigate the boat for a few hours. It didn't feel like the man was taking advantage of him, so he didn't mind. He knew that all Nicolai wanted was to make him feel useful. Heero even volunteered to wash the dishes after each meal, just so he could do something to pass the time.

He took things slowly, allowing his body and mind to heal and adjust to the new lifestyle. He used the peaceful time on the boat to train his mind in simple tasks. Even washing the dishes proved useful to his faltering motor skills.

Nicolai also bought him crossword puzzles, 'to help you keep your mind sharp', so he had said. During the afternoon hours Heero would lie on the boat's rooftop, leaning against the windshield, and solve as many puzzles he could. In time, he improved and solving the crosswords became easier.

Whenever they moored at one town or another, Nicolai asked Heero to join him while he went shopping. Heero constantly refused the offer. He didn't feel ready to step off the boat. Also, he could never help but think that Nicolai's offer was only so he could be certain that he wouldn't run away again. The man seemed very pleased each time he returned to the boat and Heero was still there. He had a few opportunities to break free, but he never took them. He didn't feel ready for it. He was afraid that he'd end up wandering aimlessly and lose his sanity in the process. He needed more time to get some control over his brain. _The Sparks_ still bothered him from time to time, but he was learning how to restrain them.

It wasn't their fault that they acted so chaotically. They were merely trying to find a way around the clutter left in his mind after Zero crashed. He didn't blame them for trying to rebuild what was left of his mind, but he still needed to keep them in check so they wouldn't run amok in the process.

Whenever they did go into a frenzy, they bumped into memories that made his knees weak. Each time that happened, he fought with his entire being against the haze that threatened to overpower him.

Sometimes he failed and fell into a trance. Each time he came out of it, Nicolai was by his side. Whether he'd been walking down the street in his pajamas in the middle of the night or was about to jump off the boat in the middle of a lake, Nicolai was there to keep an eye on him. The man never said anything when Heero returned to his senses and simply went on as if nothing had happened. Heero appreciated that.

As days formed into a week and beyond, Heero became used to the routine of living on the boat, and even found it somewhat reassuring. Despite that, he kept an eye on Nicolai, making sure the man wasn't scheming behind his back. He eavesdropped on the man when he made his late night calls, when he was certain that Heero was asleep.

Although, other than their location and what he made for dinner that night, Nicolai didn't seem to be giving any important information. Once in a while he mentioned what Heero had done that day, such as learn how to fish or finally read one of the books he had bought for him. Heero didn't understand the point behind reporting such trivial things. Perhaps Nicolai knew he was being listened to and used some sort of code language. It didn't sound much like it, but it was still a possibility.

On one of the many cloudy days during their trip, the two moored at yet another small town along the river. Nicolai had left first thing in the morning to shop for supplies and Heero, as usual, remained on board.

Blue patches of clear skies appeared as the clouds gradually cleared. Soft rays of sunlight kissed the ground, playing games of light and shadow across the River Shannon. Swans flapped their wings above the water, announcing the sunlight. Heero raised his head from the book to watch a row of white swans swim by the boat, and then returned to reading. He enjoyed the serenity, for once in his life, he was able to do just that.

The air was chilly, but not unpleasant. Wearing a simple black sweat suit and a pair of white socks, Heero sat on the rooftop, reading a short mystery novel. Soft wind toyed with his brown hair, sometimes obscuring his vision. The port was quiet, with only a few boats mooring next to them; most had left early in the morning. With time, Heero learned to recognize some of the boats that traveled along the same route as they were.

So caught up in his reading, Heero didn't notice a teenage girl who walked across the pier and towards the boat. Only when she came to stand in front of the vessel and cleared her throat, Heero looked up.

"Pardon me," the girl said, her voice carrying a light accent which he recognized as Russian. Her long blond hair and Slavic features also supported his assumption. She smiled at him sheepishly, playing with a thick strand of her long blond hair.

"Can you help me please?" the girl continued once she had his attention, "My uncle asked me to fill the water container while he's away, but I have no clue how it's to be completed."

Heero looked down at the girl, trying to sort out her broken English. When he noted the expectant look in her eyes, he frowned. Out of all the people and out of all the boats, she had to come to him?

"I'm sorry for troubling," the girl continued guiltily, still playing with her hair, "But you're the only one accessible..."

Heero looked around the port and noted a few more people sitting at the sterns of their boats. He looked back at the girl, who was looking at him keenly. She reminded him of how clingy Relena had been when he had first met her. What was it with girls his age? Will they always be around him like that? Wasn't his antisocial attitude enough to keep them away?

Sighing, he snapped the book shut.

"Sure," he finally said, and jumped off the roof and onto the stern.

"Oh, spasiba! I mean, thank you!" The girl laughed, and threw her hair back. "My uncle will become so pleased also!"

"No problem," Heero muttered and jumped onto the pier. Having no shoes, he stood on the slick pier wearing only white socks.

"Which one is your boat?" He asked the girl.

"Over there." She pointed at one of the boats mooring at the parallel pier. She then turned to him with a bright smile. "I'm Anya, pleased to be meeting you."

He nodded in acknowledgement, considering whether or not to give her his name. Deciding that she wasn't a threat, he said, "Heero."

The girl's smile grew even brighter and he fought the urge to cringe. _Girls_ – they were beyond him.

Anya led him to her boat and he followed silently. He asked for the hose that connected the water tank to the port's water system, and she handed it to him, smiling. The task was quite simple; he wondered why she didn't even try to refill it by herself.

He worked silently, screwing the hose to both ends and then opened the valve to let the water in. The girl stood next to him the whole time, watching him like a hawk. He felt very self conscious about being watched and waited anxiously for the tank to refill.

"It's done," he said dryly and handed her back the hose.

"Oh spasiba! Very very much!"

Heero nodded his response, and then pretended to be looking around, indicating that he was ready to leave.

"I guess I'll be seeing more of you," Anya said and offered her hand in a friendly handshake, "Dasvidania, Heero."

He stared at her hand for a moment and then shook it. Without a word, he turned back to Nicolai's boat. He could feel the girl's eyes on his back the whole time, and he couldn't help but feel disturbed by it.

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Two days later, while mooring at a different town, Heero noticed that the girl's boat was mooring next to theirs. When he thought back, he recalled that her boat had been following them for quite some time. Then again, he often saw many of the same boats dock at the ports Nicolai and he reached.

Dismissing any paranoid thoughts, Heero returned to the book he was reading. He was sitting on the rooftop again, enjoying the sunshine. The day was a particularly sunny one, pleasant and warm. A soft breeze played with his hair, and pushed his long bangs into his eyes while he read. He shoved them aside with annoyance – he needed a haircut – and tried to concentrate on reading.

Nicolai went shopping as he did every morning. After the incident with Anya, when he had to step onto the pier with no shoes on, Heero finally asked the man to purchase him a pair. Nicolai seemed very pleased at his request, and left the boat smiling.

Heero was grateful for the quiet time he had while the man wasn't onboard. It wasn't that Nicolai bothered him intentionally, but when the man was around Heero always felt compelled to acknowledge him somehow. He simply wanted some time alone, without having to please anyone.

"Good morning," a friendly voice called from the pier below. Heero looked over his book and saw Anya standing by the boat, smiling at him. He hid his irritation, and nodded a polite 'hello'.

"You are Heero, correct?" she asked innocently, and he wondered why she bothered confirming only two days after they first met. Was she senile or something? She could join the club, because he often felt the same.

"Yes," he muttered and returned his gaze to the book.

"My uncle wants to ask you an inquiry, is that well with you?"

Heero scowled, and put the book down again. He looked at the girl, "Your uncle?" he echoed, a wary look in his eyes.

The girl smiled sweetly and nodded her head. "Da, yes, uncle."

He was about to say something more, but then the boat rocked abruptly, as if someone boarded it hastily. Heero whirled around to see who it was – and a punch connected straight into his face.

He recoiled, dropping the book. It fell off the roof and onto the stern.

Someone grabbed him hard by the arms, and yanked him forward.

He was thrown violently onto the stern floor.

"Are you Zero One?!" A man shouted with a heavy Russian accent.

Dazed, Heero blinked repeatedly, trying to clear his vision and make something out of the blurry figure towering over him.

"Are you Gundam pilot Zero One?!" The voice demanded again, while powerful arms shook him roughly.

"NO!" Heero shouted, his body being rattled so hard that his teeth connected painfully. "You have the wro—"

Another fist flew into his jaw and split his lips. Tasting blood, he took a sharp breath to ease the pain. All the while the man clawed at his arms, holding him tightly to deny movement.

"YOU LIE!" The Russian man insisted and spat in Heero's face.

Heero blinked the saliva out of his eyes. He tried to use his legs to break free of the man's hold, but then the man, who was leaning above him, bent his knee up and hit Heero straight in the groin.

Wincing, he let out a painful grunt and whirled his head aside.

Awakened by the sharp pain, _The Sparks_ began to run frenziedly in his head, screaming and shrieking loudly; their shrill cut through his brain like a rusty knife. He clenched his eyes shut, tormented, and begged them to settle down. He couldn't think with all the racket going on inside his head. It was no time to become disoriented!

The man lifted him up so they were face to face. From behind a curtain of dancing bright spots, Heero could see a large, angry, red face filling his vision. The Russian man's eyes were ablaze with fury.

"Do you think you not pay for what you did?!" the man roared angrily, rattling Heero even harder. He didn't wait for an answer and flipped Heero over, throwing him onto the floor – hard.

Heero's face crashed onto the stern's hard floor. Every cell in his body told him to fight or flee, but the only thing _The Sparks_ could think of was to run around in circles like a beheaded chicken!

_Cut it out – dammit! Let me think!_ He begged them.

The burly Russian man didn't leave Heero even a split second to fight back. He immediately yanked his arms backwards and tied them behind his back, using a coarse rope.

_The Sparks_ sizzled, burning hot like acid fire in his nerves. He felt the man grab his wrists and twist them behind his back, yanking them so hard Heero couldn't help but grimace at the sharp pain.

The boat rocked slightly as Anya climbed aboard. Heero watched her feet enter his line of sight as she stood above him. For a moment, he confused the Russian girl with another blond girl. He recalled how Relena stood in the line of fire for him, protecting him during his first encounter with Duo. But Anya wasn't there as a friend, she was a foe, he reminded himself. _The Sparks_ shrugged as if it didn't matter – _what's the difference_, they argued, everyone was out to get him anyway.

"Go back to the boat, Anya!" the man urged the girl, as he tied Heero's hands behind his back. "This is not for your eyes!"

Anya ignored her uncle – if he really was her relative – and squatted down in front of Heero. He could only see as high as her chin, for the Russian thug was still sitting on top of him, holding his head pressed to the floor.

When the man let go and continued tying Heero legs as well, Anya yanked his head up by his hair. Again he winced, but otherwise looked at her calmly. He waited patiently for her to do whatever it was she needed to do.

"I'm not here because I'm bad people," she said quietly, being eerily calm, "You killed everyone I know. I'm here because you're not allowed to be living."

He had nothing to say to that. She was right. What else was there to say?

The man flipped him over to face up again. His arms and legs were crushed under his own weight.

"Do you know what 'dasvidania' means?" Anya asked coldly, still looking down at him with a numb expression on her face. Mystified by the face of his executioner, Heero merely stared.

"That means 'sayonara', Heero," she continued evenly, "and that means you are dead."

Heero's eyes caught a movement and snapped in its direction. He was now staring at the barrel of a gun.

The Russian man was aiming it straight at his forehead. The weapon had a silencer on it; his execution would go unnoticed by the world.

He closed his eyes, ready for the shot that would end his life. Time seemed to slow down, stretching the moment into a lifetime. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest, fear and adrenaline battling his willingness to die. The cool wind caressed his face, tousling his hair. Anya's palm was still resting over his head, pulsing with warmth. He was surprised that her delicate touch registered with him as something comforting.

He wanted to say that he was sorry, but then again, no one had ever apologized to him for all the horrors he had been through, so why should he? Damn them, damn him, damn everything. The world was so ungrateful and so was he.

Time resumed its normal pace with the sound of a cocking gun.

The metallic click echoed loudly in his mind. _The Sparks_ flickered madly, like white noise. His mind filled with static.

_HARDWARE MAY NOT BE HARMED._

Without a conscious thought, Heero used his legs as leverage and pushed himself backwards.

The shot was fired. It missed him by a split of a second, leaving a round hole on the stern floor.

With a loud splash, Heero fell off the stern and into the river. The fall hurt and the cold water chased _The Sparks_ away. Awareness resurfaced and he found himself sinking into the cold grip of The River Shannon.

Gunshots soon followed, bullets missing him by mere inches.

With his limbs tied up behind him, Heero sunk quickly to the bottom. He struggled against his bonds, but the ropes were too tight. Black spots danced across his vision. Looking up, he could see the bottom of the boat becoming more and more distant as he drowned.

Trails of bullets split the water around him. One of them grazed his arm, cutting it deep. Another bullet shot past his leg, slashing it open. His vision was already blurred, but he could still see the blood floating around him, painting the water red.

The air ran out in his lungs. He opened his mouth by reflex, gulping in water instead of air.

A few more bullets shot past him, grazing his beaten flesh.

Finally, his body stilled, drained from air and blood. He floated limply within a growing sphere of red liquid. His hair was swung lazily back and forth by the currents. His eyes were closed, dark eyelashes resting against bruised cheeks. His features were calm, like those of a sleeping child. Death came as a soft, black blanket wrapping itself around him. His anger dissolved, leaving only peace.

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_'Donguri korokoro donburiko...'_

A woman was singing.

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_'O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen…'_

Her voice meant something to him.

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_'Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa...'_

He knew that song...

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_'Botchan issho ni asobimashou…'_

He wanted to sing along with her...

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_HARDWARE MAY NOT BE HARMED._

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Above water, both the Russian man and his alleged niece stood on the pier, and watched. When they saw the water turn bloody red, they nodded at each other and walked away.

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Meanwhile, at town, Nicolai stood in front of rows of shoes at the local department store. His shopping cart was already filled with groceries and all he had left to buy was a pair of shoes for Heero. The task would have been simple enough, if only he had had the wits to ask the teen for his shoe size before he left the boat.

Deciding to wing it, he reached for a pair of simple white sneakers and put them in the cart. He headed towards the check out.

Carrying the heavy bags back to the boat was always a hassle. Carrying them by hand turned a ten minute walk into a fifteen minute one. He arrived back at the harbor later than he had expected. He spotted the boat and walked towards it, all the while planning course adjustments for the day, since they would obviously leave the port later than he had planned.

As he walked along the pier towards the boat, he saw a boat leaving the harbor in quite a rush. It caught his attention, since speeding the way they did was unusual while leaving port. He managed to see a young blond girl standing at the stern of the boat, looking at him. Even for the split second he managed to see her face, Nicolai could catch the angry look in her eyes. He hastened his pace, an unpleasant feeling building up in his chest.

The first thing he noticed was that Heero wasn't sitting in his usual spot on the roof. As he reached the stern in order to get inside the boat, he saw the novel Heero had been reading lying on the floor. Alarm bells went off in his head.

Whirling around, his eyes scanned for the boat that rushed out of the harbor. It was already far in the distance, speeding down the River Shannon.

"Heero!" Nicolai called, looking around fearfully, "Heero!"

Dropping the grocery bags, Nicolai ducked to look past the glass door and into the boat, but the living area was empty on the inside.

"Heero?" He called again, but there was no reply. "Shit."

He spun back to look at the stern, and that's when he noticed the bullet hole close to the edge of the boat.

"Dammit!" He cursed, and ran to the banister. Heart pounding madly, he scanned the water.

His eyes grew wider when he saw the large pool of blood floating in the murky water.

Quickly, he jumped in.

He dove down deep, his eyes searching the bottom of the river. Tall seaweeds obscured the bottom, swinging under the slow currents. He saw no traces of the missing teen.

Resurfacing with a loud gulp of air, he screamed the teen's name, panicked, "HEERO!"

He looked around the port, scanning every boat, every square inch of water.

Then, just a few feet away, he saw a blue rope floating in the water. The rope was soaked with blood. He swam towards it, having to duck under the pier in order to reach it.

"Heero?" He called out again, gripping the piece of rope tightly in his hand.

A small, tired cough echoed under the pier.

Nicolai whirled around. His eyes searched frantically for the source of sound, until he saw him. There, at the edge of the pier, at a small slope of sand, Heero lay tied up and mangled.

Nicolai hurried to swim towards him, finally walking through the water when they became shallow enough to walk. There was only a small patch of ground under the pier, and it was well hidden from sight by other boats and the dock's poles. Heero lay there with most of his body safe on land, and only his legs still in the water. There was a large pool of blood floating in the water around his feet.

"Heero," Nicolai breathed the boy's name with relief. He dropped to his knees next to Heero, scanning him for injuries. The teen's skin was pale and almost blue with cold. His body lay limp, exhausted. He noted that Heero's arms were bleeding badly, and also restrained behind his back.

"Here, let me help," he said slowly, to get through to Heero that he meant no harm.

Behind a mask of wet brown hair, Heero shifted his gaze up to look at the man. His eyes seemed unfocused, his mind as blurred as his vision.

"Odin..." he whispered weakly, his pale blue lips trembling.

The man didn't bother to correct him. He bent over to release the knot.

"It's alright, I'm getting you out of here."

"Not safe..." Heero mumbled faintly, shaking his head against the muddy earth. Just the thought of another confirmation made him feel small, tired.

When the sound of bullets had ceased rippling through the water, the river fell into a deep silence. His mind cleared, preparing for death, and then _The Sparks_ shrieked once more, informing him that his legs were suddenly free. The bullet that had grazed his leg, injuring him, had also cut through the ropes binding his feet.

A rush of adrenaline burst throughout his body. As he reached the river bottom, he used both his legs to bounce off the surface. His hands were still tied behind his back, but he kicked hard, using every last bit of strength he had in him in order to resurface. He emerged beneath the pier, out of sight, gasping loudly for air. The water under the pier was shallow enough to walk through. Stumbling towards the shore, he took refuge at a small slop of sand at the edge of the pier, where it connected to the land. _The Sparks_ quieted down and he collapsed to the ground, fatigued.

Now, he looked up at the man by his side, grateful for his arrival, at long last.

"I think I saw them leave," Nicolai assured him as he unbound the boy's hands, "It's safe."

Heero nodded slowly and closed his eyes. Now that he knew he was safe, all he wanted was to sleep.

He felt Nicolai scoop him up into his arms, shivered and closed his eyes. His body finally relaxed, responding to Nicolai's comforting presence. Every cell in his body told him that he could trust the man; that he was in good hands, familiar hands. Those same hands had nursed him back to health before. They protected him many times before.

Yes, he knew those arms, Heero mused absentmindedly as he huddled closer to the man's chest, seeking more warmth, more comfort. He felt like a child again while being carried by those arms. Leaning his head against the man's shoulder, he allowed the nostalgic feeling flood his heart with tingling warmth.

Sometimes he would get himself into trouble just so those hands will take care of him. Sometimes he didn't mind breaking a bone or two or even bleeding, just so he could have Odin by his side.

Drifting into heavy slumber, Heero lifted his bleeding arms and wrapped them around the man's neck, like a child seeking protection. Indeed, he was a child again, and Odin was by his side. That was all he cared to know as he surrendered to the darkness.

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	7. Chapter 7

_**Status**__: Betaed by Avatar-chik._

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .7.**_

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"Japan had three options: One – leave the Philippines out of their conquest, and by doing so, avoid provoking the Americans. Two – attack the Philippines and hope that since the United States was still recovering from the Great Depression, they wouldn't retaliate. But there was also a third option, what was it?"

He was eleven-years-old again, sitting on a single student chair & desk in the middle of a small gray room. In front of him, standing by a large whiteboard, was his tutor for 'Military Strategy' – Lt. Commander Baranski. 'M.T.' was just one out of the many classes he had to go through on a daily basis. He never complained, though. Compared to the other things he was forced to do during the training, sitting in class was one of the better ones.

"What was Japan's third option?" Baranski repeated the question.

"To attack the United States' Pacific Fleet at Pearl Harbor, sir," he answered swiftly, reciting from memory.

"Exactly," his tutor approved, nodding his head.

Baranski was one of his favorite tutors. He wasn't as arrogant and disrespectful towards him like the others were. He could finally relax after a long day (the lessons were usually in the evening), and even lean casually over the table. The Lt. Commander never told him to sit up straight like the others did; he understood how tired he was.

"Japan's third option was to destroy the U.S.'s capability to retaliate, so they could conquer South East Asia. Pearl Harbor was a classic case of a surprise preventative action. Who planned the attack?"

"Fleet Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku, sir."

"Good. And whose tactics was he using when he planned the attack on Pearl Harbor?"

"Sun Tzu, who wrote 'The Art of War' during the Chinese Warring States period, 6th century B.C., sir," he replied smoothly, relaying the answer like an automaton. He had been taught about Sun Tzu's writings quite thoroughly and Baranski loved to mention him at every opportunity.

"Good. And what was the main principle behind the attack?"

"The element of surprise; it was the largest naval attack to that day. No one had believed that Japan was capable of bringing six aircraft carriers across the Pacific, sir."

"Correct. The Americans also never expected Japan to attack, since the U.S. had no interest in the South East Asia conquest. How many aircrafts did Japan use in the attack?"

"Three hundred and fifty three aircrafts named 'Zero'. They were the most advanced of their time. The U.S. pacific fleet was destroyed in two hours, sir."

"Pop quiz – did the Japanese use these tactics before?"

"Yes sir; they used the same basic strategy when attacking Port Arthur during the Russo-Japanese war, 1904. The Russians never saw them coming and the Fortress fell, sir."

"Very good, I see you've done your reading. Now, I want a three page essay discussing Sun Tzu's tactics used by the Japanese during the Russo-Japanese war, compared to the Pacific Ocean War, due by next week's class, understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Dismissed," Baranski said, smiling in amusement at the boy's eager response – he was very keen to learn history. "Now, go get something to eat before they close the mess hall."

"Yes sir," he agreed.

As he stood up, he turned to look at his tutor and gasped.

The man standing by the desk wasn't Lt. Commander Baranski, but another man with familiar broad shoulders and short blond hair. _Odin_ was standing where Baranski once stood. He had somehow taken the Lt. Commander's place, gathering his notes from the teacher's desk as if nothing was out of the ordinary. But Odin was dead. Why was he standing there?

"Is there a problem?" Odin asked, using Lt. Commander Baranski's voice.

His eyes widened, completely stunned. Was he losing his mind?

"N-no sir..."

"Then hurry up before there's nothing left for you to eat."

"Yes sir. Anou, thank you sir," he mumbled, gathering his books hastily.

He hurried out of the classroom and ran towards the mess hall, trying to dismiss what he had seen. Odin was dead. He couldn't be at the training grounds. Sure, sometimes he secretly wished that Odin would somehow come back for him and take him away from J, but those were only pointless dreams. Of course, Dr. J would have his head for such wishful thinking, so he tried to stop hoping for the impossible. He only thought about Odin when times were hard; when all he could do was comfort himself by dreaming. But he wasn't in any distress now, so why was he thinking – no, he was actually _seeing_ – Odin?

Sighing quietly, he entered the mess hall, already knowing that the food would be cold and scarce. His mouth watered at the imaginary scent of Odin's spaghetti and meatballs but he quickly banished the thought from his head.

The mess hall was empty and kitchen staff was already cleaning up after dinner. Placing his textbooks on a table at the far end of the hall, he went to the serving lines. His eyes sought out Private First Class Moretti, who was always kinder towards him compared to the others. Most of the base's personnel didn't like the idea of an eleven-year-old kid being destined for things greater than their own fates. At least, that's what Dr. J had said when he asked him why people didn't like him that much.

"Good evening, sir," he greeted quietly when he finally spotted the man.

"You're late kid," Moretti said, shaking his head, "there ain't much I can get ya."

The mere thought of skipping dinner (for the second time that week!) made him pale. "Nothing's left, sir?"

"'fraid not."

He sighed resignedly and then looked up at the man, his blue eyes shimmering resolutely. "What if I helped around the kitchen, sir?"

No one would ever refuse the opportunity to make him work his butt off; it amused them immensely.

"For that, kid, I'll make you my special – macaroni and cheese!" Morett smiled broadly.

It wasn't the same as spaghetti and meatballs, but who was he to complain?

"C'mon, I'll find you something to do."

"Yes sir..." he muttered tiredly and followed Moretti into the kitchen.

After an hour of scrubbing industrial-sized pots, he was given a hot meal, and went to the table where he had left his textbooks. Grateful for finally being able to rest, he sat down to eat.

"The _son-of-a-bitch_ calls this _shit_ macaroni and _cheese_?" a voice commented from somewhere to the left. He looked up, but there was no one there; the mess hall was empty. He returned to eat silently.

"I wouldn't feed a dog this crap," the voice muttered angrily. "C'mon, I'll make you something edible."

"You can't," he whispered so that no one would hear him talking to himself, "You're dead."

The man let out a bitter laugh. "If you say so."

Ignoring him, he continued eating. He had to report to J for his daily checkup. Thanks to Moretti, he had no time left to rest.

From his left, he heard the man sigh lengthily, as though disappointed. "You let them use you, kiddo. You should know better than trusting people so easily; they'll end up taking advantage of you. I taught you better than that."

He rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore the man. Dead people shouldn't be speaking to him. It wasn't real. Perhaps he was dreaming?

"And you let that girl Anya get to you too!" the man continued as if he was supposed to be alive and lecturing him. He was beginning to doubt his own sanity.

"I didn't let her _get to me_," he retorted, "she needed my _help_."

"Yeah right," the man still didn't turn to face him, "Whatever happened to your _flawless paranoia_? You trusted J when he showed up after me, you trusted strangers with your life all through the war... I think the war had softened you. You met too many kind people."

Annoyed, he jerked his head up to glare at the man. "Shut up_._ What do _you_ know about it?"

Odin let out a short laugh. "Don't get me wrong, kiddo; I'm glad you're still capable of trusting people. It makes my job here a whole lot easier."

"What do you want from me? I don't understand why you're here."

"Yes you do."

"No, I don't. You're not _real_. You're _dead_. Stop talking," he whispered harshly, unable to cope with the idea that the man he was speaking to was actually alive.

"I'm _not_ dead," Odin muttered, shaking his head as though disappointed, "Didn't you figure it out already?"

"Yes you are. I saw you die. Stop appearing everywhere. It's not _real._"

"It's your dream, kiddo, not mine. Stop making me appear in it." Odin laughed again, taking the whole matter all too lightly.

"That's not funny! I'm not dreaming_!_ I remember this happening!" Still a child, his boyish voice became high-pitched as he shouted.

Odin shrugged. "Whatever, kiddo, it really doesn't matter. Believe what you like."

"I remember every single, _miserable_ day I've been here – and you were _never_ here with me! You _died_ and now I'm here! It's your _fault!_"

At long last, he man turned to face him.

He could finally see the features he had longed to see for years. The sight of Odin's short blonde bangs, his crooked nose and strong jaw line was always a little out of reach for him. Now Odin's bluish-gray eyes were looking straight at him, shimmering sadly.

Yes, he could finally see the familiar features, but they weren't Odin's. Sitting by the table next to him was a man he _knew_ was Odin, and yet, he looked exactly like Nicolai.

"This is a dream," he reminded himself, "It's not real."

"Heero," Odin/Nicolai whispered, "Please open your eyes."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

He woke up to be seventeen again, lying safely in his own bed. The awkward dream melted into the back of his mind, replaced by the grim present.

His body ached from recent injuries. His clothes had been changed and his wounds were carefully dressed. He could feel the raw sting of fresh stitches.

By the sound of the engines, he gathered that the boat was on the move. The slight rocking movement made him queasy, most likely due to the loss of blood.

The bed was warm and comfortable, reassuring him that the danger had passed. Rolling over to lie on his side, Heero nestled deeply into the covers in an attempt to hide from the world. It wasn't Anya and her accomplice he was hiding from – it was the man currently steering the boat.

There were issues that needed to be addressed. Nicolai's identity needed to be sorted out; Heero was sick of speculating. He wasn't sure if he could handle the truth, but he'll be damned if he didn't at least confront it. If his suspicions were to become true, then he needed to know now, before he offered any more of his trust.

Unlike in his dream, Nicolai Smirnov bore little physical resemblance to the man he remembered as Odin Lowe. Then again, plastic surgery could be held accountable for that. However, Nicolai did have a few shared features with Odin, such as his well defined chin and crooked nose. But above all, it was the man's actions that were so painfully familiar to Heero. Subconsciously, he had already suspected that Nicolai could be Odin, but had refused to accept it. Everything Nicolai had done for him rang distant bells of a time he fought hard to forget; a time when he had felt safe and cared for. It was a childhood that ended too soon, shattered by a single bullet that took the life of his caretaker.

Or had it? Could Odin be _alive?_ Had he returned from the dead? No, no, of course not. People don't come back from the dead, and certainly not the people _he_ cared for. If Nicolai was Odin, then that would mean that he had faked his own death, or somehow escaped it. If that was the case, then the betrayal would be too much to bear.

Heero sighed and rolled over to lie on his back, troubled. He stared at the ceiling and reread the note still pasted above him: _'Your name is Heero. You woke up from a coma. You are on a boat with me, Nicolai. You're safe.'_

_'Safe'_. Was he safe? It felt as though he was in more trouble than he had ever been. Nicolai was constantly plotting against him, he was sure of it. Would a man return from the dead only so he could hurt him? Wasn't his death enough of a betrayal? He never forgave Odin for dying; he won't be able to forgive him for being alive either.

Anger bubbled inside him. He took a long deep breath, trying to calm his childish irrationality. He needed to keep calm. It was time to get some answers.

Throwing the covers aside, he swung his injured feet off the bed and onto the floor. Unlike his resolve, his body faltered while attempting to get up. He knew that he should remain in bed and rest, but if he stayed in bed a moment longer he would risk losing his mind to speculation.

Stepping out of the room required quite an effort. His legs were weak and injured. Both of his ankles were wrapped tightly in white bandages. Wincing, he balanced himself on two feet and reached for the door. He felt like an old man who could barely keep his back straight while walking.

The hum of the engines was much louder in the main section of the boat. Heero carefully climbed the few steps leading to the living area. He spotted Nicolai sitting by the inner-helm, the man's face was grim and his eyes gazed straight ahead. When he noticed Heero climbing slowly up the stairs, he turned to him and his features softened.

"How are you feeling?"

Heero, who was leaning on the wall for support, offered no reply. He counted three breaths before climbing the last two steps. He slowly made his way to the sofa and lowered himself into the seat, sighing thankfully, for his legs were ablaze with pain.

"Are you sure you don't want to get some more rest?"

"I'm fine."

Nicolai nodded and turned back to the helm. Heero allowed the man to drive the boat silently for a few long moments. He kept his eyes on him, thoughtful.

"I'm sorry, Heero," Nicolai said, "I had no idea they would find us here."

"You knew we were being followed?"

"Not exactly, but I know some faction want you _dead_."

"_No kidding_," Heero muttered, rubbing his injured arm, trying to stop the pulsing pain. Even though he was being sarcastic, he couldn't blame those who wanted him dead. Anya was right; he shouldn't be allowed to live.

A few more minutes passed in silence, with only the hum of the engines filling the air. Heero forced himself to concentrate on breathing to ease the pain and dizziness. A few _Sparks_ flickered in his head, but quickly diminished. Even they were too tired to do anything at the moment.

"They were Russian," Heero decided to point out, turning to look at the man. He noted Nicolai's back become rigid. "You're also Russian."

The man heaved a heavy sigh. "That's just a coincidence."

He didn't believe him, but said nothing. Turning to look out the window, he watched the scenery race by, trees and water mixing into a greenish brown blur.

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Nicolai turned to look at him, his hand still on the steering wheel, "Even when I just saved your life."

Heero turned to look at him coldly. "I saved my own life, you were shopping."

"I go shopping every morning. They just happened to use the opportunity to attack you while I was gone."

"They've been following us all week," Heero said. "Didn't you find that the _least_ bit suspicious?"

"Did you?"

Heero didn't answer. The man sighed deeply.

"You're really a tough guy to convince, Heero."

"Then stop trying to convince me. Tell me the truth."

"I'm hoping you'll figure it out on your own."

"Don't take me for a fool, I've figured it out already."

Nicolai turned to look at Heero, raising a skeptic eyebrow. "You have?"

Heero folded his hands over his chest. He leveled his gaze along with Nicolai's, looking at him intently and saying nothing.

Nicolai heaved a frustrated sigh. "I wish you'd give me a little more credit," he said, shaking his head.

They sat in silence for a while longer, Nicolai driving and Heero looking out the window. Heero needed the pause so he could gather his thoughts. It wasn't easy for him to engage in such a conversation, especially one that could ultimately lead to his heartbreak.

"I knew a man once," Heero decided to say, "he also used to take care of me."

Nicolai said nothing, trying to appear uninterested.

"He was Russian too."

He received no reaction from Nicolai. Out the window, more trees blurred into a mixture of gray, green and brown as they sped past them. Heavy rainclouds threatened the foliage with an upcoming storm. Heavy raindrops fell against the window. Heero remained silent, his eyes fixated on the intensifying rain.

"Was he any good at it?" Nicolai spoke up.

Heero turned to look at the man but said nothing. Admitting to someone – even to Odin himself – that his life began and ended with Odin, would be exposing something that was too personal, too deep. Sometimes he even refused to admit it to himself. He'd been taught to care for no one, to never let himself get attached. That left only Odin, a person he had cared for before the training; the only person he kept in his heart during years of hardship.

When he received no reply from the teen, Nicolai tried again. "What did you do after he died?"

Heero turned to glare at the man "I didn't say he was dead," he pointed out dryly. Nicolai looked away, as if caught lying.

"Yes that's true," he muttered, "I just assumed."

Heero allowed the silence to stretch for a few more miles while he contemplated how to proceed.

"Why did you decide to take care of me?" He finally asked.

Nicolai frowned. "When – now?"

Heero rolled his eyes. "Yes _now_ – when else?"

Nicolai was acting as if they were playing a game. Perhaps they were. Fine; he was good at games. If Nicolai was hinting at their shared past, then so would he.

"You could have easily left me in the care of others, why did you insist on taking care of me yourself?"

"I felt that I owed you that much," the man answered honestly.

"Owed me? You don't even know me. We never met before."

Nicolai 'tsked in annoyance and turned to look at the teen, clearly frustrated with his behavior. "Heero, if you have something to say – then just say it. I'm sick of mind games."

"And I'm sick of lies."

"I never lied to you."

"You never told me the truth either."

Nicolai sighed lengthily, obviously tired of Heero's adolescent attitude. "Just answer me this – what _have_ you figured out about me?"

Heero gazed intensely at the man sitting by the helm. He counted the passing seconds in his head, warring with himself if he should dare speak what was on his mind.

Nicolai turned to face him again, his gray eyes bitter. "Come on Heero, I know what you're thinking. Just say it so we can get it over with."

"And then what? We'll hug like _father and son_ and you'll send me off on one of your _missions?_ No thanks, I've had plenty of _those_." Each word he spoke reeked with poison. He was being bitterly sarcastic and even that wasn't enough to vent out the pain burning in his chest. He was speaking to a ghost; he was speaking with Odin Lowe.

"You _abandoned_ me. You left me to fend on my own while you lived your life somewhere else. I was nothing but a tool for you to use and discard; a weapon."

There – he said it. He finally said what he'd feared to accept for years. Perhaps his belief that Odin looked after him out of care was just a lie he made up so he could comfort himself during the lonely nights under J's mistreatments. Now he had to come to terms with the fact that all he ever was, and all he ever will be, is a tool for people to use and discard; a weapon.

Nicolai sat silently, his face a mask of stone. He didn't appear to be stunned, or angry, or anything for that matter. What Heero couldn't see from where he sat was the dark shimmer in the man's gray eyes. It was something distant, something pained_. _Regret.

"So you _have_ figured it out." Nicolai spoke almost too quietly for Heero to pick up his words. An unholy silence hung in the air. A sense of fragile hope hovered above the two, but refused to make its presence known. Both the teenage soldier and the grown assassin were shielding their hearts.

"But you're wrong," the man continued speaking, "my motives weren't as corrupt as you think."

"Don't flatter yourself, _Odin_." Heero muttered and looked away. Speaking the name lucidly for the first time left a strange taste in his mouth. It felt unnatural, unholy. An ideal image he had in his mind since childhood was slowly shattering before his eyes.

Odin winced at the sound of his name, as if he'd sliced by a knife. The contempt in Heero's voice did not escape him.

"Heero, if you recall, I told you back then that I was planning to leave you at the colony. I also knew that you wouldn't accept it, so I had to fake my own death."

The rage he had been keeping on a low flame for years finally reached its boiling point.

"I was a _child!_ What did you expect me to do?! Life with you was all I _knew!_"

"That's why I wanted you to move on, to go to school, to get adopted by a good family. I couldn't keep you around me; you would have ended up just like me."

"I _did_ end up just like you!" Heero accused harshly, standing up, his nerves demanding some type of movement. All of the things he felt after Odin's death resurfaced with a vengeance. His mind was eight-years-old again; angry, hurt and betrayed.

Odin cast his gaze to the floor. "Yes... I know you did. Believe me, that's the last thing I wanted for you, to have ending up like me..."

"I thought you were dead. I _grieved_ for you!"

"I know, Heero, I'm sorry. I thought it was the only way to set you free."

"_Free?_ I don't even know what that word _means!_ I was taken in by a _monster – _you have no idea what that man did to me! You _fucking_ _bastard!_"

His voice became hoarse with rage. His heart pounded so powerfully he thought it might explode. The anger raised _The Sparks_ from their slumber and they scattered around his brain, chattering mindlessly until they formed a splitting headache. He began trembling so hard that some of his wounds reopened and blood stained his bandages.

"Those people came to kill me for what I am, but it's _you_ they should be after. _You're_ the reason I became a killer! _You're_ the one who should pay with his life! I could _kill_ you myself!"

"Heero, I swear to you, I would have gotten you out of there if I knew."

"FUZAKENNAYO!" (Don't bullshit me!) He burst out shouting, his face red with anger. "All you cared about was moving on with your life! Abandoning me was just as easy as throwing out the _trash!_"

"No! It wasn't like that!" Odin insisted, a storm raging in his gray eyes. Heero's accusations were pushing the right buttons.

"Heero, I hope you'll realize that that's not _true_. I was trying to keep your best interest in mind. I raised you for over _five_ _years_. I cared for you; cared enough to finally let you go. Believe me, if I had known you were taken into Operation Meteor, I would've come for you."

"Then why _didn't_ you?!" Heero called out desperately, his mind that of a child again. Nothing made sense while _The Sparks_ ran amok in his head. He didn't care; there was so much pain inside of him, so many emotions waiting to finally be free. He didn't care what made sense and what didn't, he simply needed to shout it out.

"If you _really_ cared for me, then why didn't you come?! Why did you _die?!_ Everything hurt after you died. _Everything!_" Tears stung his eyes but he stubbornly refused to let them fall. He hadn't cried in nearly a decade; he wasn't about to start now.

"Heero, please," Odin tried to calm him, for he could see that the boy was losing his rationality. "Perhaps you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do!" he shouted, on the verge of hysteria. "I'm not your weapon!"

His shoulders trembled, his wounded body shaken by the outburst of emotions. His legs could no longer support him and finally gave way. Heero fell to his knees and onto the floor.

Odin quickly jumped to his side, but Heero pushed him away violently. "Don't touch me! Don't _ever_ come near me again – _kusoyaru!_" (bastard!)

_The Sparks_ chuckled madly. They flickered on and off like crazy. Grabbing his head, Heero panted harshly to ease the pain they caused. His brain pulsed with agony as logic and emotion fought for dominance. For the first time in years, his logic was losing; it was impossible to restrain his heart any longer. Emotions spurted out of him like vomit to the floor. He wanted to scream out the pain, but his well built defenses did not allow such a cry to crawl out of his throat. Heero felt the pressure rising in his chest, begging to come out, but refused to surrender. He will not cry. He will not scream. He will not give in. Not ever.

The tidal wave of emotions rippled through his body, flooding him from head to toe. Like any other wave, it eventually receded, slowly vanishing into the corners of his heart. There they joined the pools of silent agony which stood untouched by the waves. Dark anguish dripped from the walls of his heart, causing small ripples in the water. That was the kind of pain Heero always carried in his heart; it was a kind of pain he could handle. He drowned the pain deep into those dark pools of calm water and was finally able to compose himself.

Odin used the time to step outside and dock the boat at the pier in front of the Portumna Bridge. When he returned to the living area, he found Heero still sitting on the floor, looking tired and small. His body was slumped forward, his head bowed, his eyes staring unseeingly at the carpet.

Sitting down carefully on the sofa, Odin waited patiently for Heero to recover. Seconds ticked by until Heero slowly blinked his eyes. Finally, he lifted his gaze from the floor and turned to look at the man. His blue eyes were calm once more, shielded.

"How did you find me?" He asked quietly, his tone of voice almost indifferent.

Odin gazed deeply into his eyes, to indicate that he was about to speak the truth.

"After you crashed your Gundam into the Brussels' palace, your face was all over the news. Your blue eyes gave you away. I recognized your face the instant I saw your photo in the newspaper. It was that same little face I remembered, only grown up."

He paused, giving Heero time to process the words. "There were talks about prosecuting you for Crimes of War. Some even wanted to carry out the sentence without a trial, to take you off life support. I _had_ to come and get you out of there."

Heero nodded. "So you approached Relena with an offer to take me under your care."

"Yes. She was desperate for a solution. I offered to help you disappear off the radar. I explained everything to her, since she wouldn't let me near you otherwise."

When he got no reaction from Heero, he continued. "I made her promise not to tell you who I was. I needed you to come to the conclusion on your own. I needed you to trust me."

"Trust you?" Heero echoed weakly, shaking his head as if Odin just told a joke. He bowed his head again and took a moment to think. He had to struggle to keep the inner voice above _The Sparks'_ constant chatter.

"If all this is true, then who were you reporting to all this time?"

"Reporting to?" Odin seemed genuinely surprised. "Heero, I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

Heero's eyes flared with anger, but his voice remained calm. "Don't lie to me; you've done enough of that already. I heard you on the phone, every night. You were telling someone about my condition. You said you wanted me to join you someplace. I heard everything."

Odin seemed to realize what Heero was referring to, but he didn't look worried. In fact, he seemed amused. "Well, if you would have paid closer attention you would have realized that I was simply calling my fiancée."

"Your fiancée_?_"

"Yes," Odin smiled weakly, "Natasha. She's eight months pregnant and she can't wait for me to come back home. I was only filling her in on what was going on."

Thinking back on all the conversation pieces he had heard, it made sense somehow. He had his doubts about the so-called "reports" but his paranoia never allowed him to simply dismiss what he heard as being harmless. His distrust led him to the wrong conclusion. It was all in his head.

Odin was engaged to be married; he had obviously established a whole new life without him. And yet, for some reason, the words wouldn't sit right with him. In all the time he had spent with Odin as a child, he couldn't recall any ladies. Perhaps the man did have affairs without him knowing, but never something as permanent as a _'fiancée'_. It felt odd thinking about Odin in such manner.

"Natasha and I live in Dublin," Odin explained, "We're expecting a baby. I hope you can understand that in your condition, I was afraid to let you near her. I needed to earn your trust first. I needed you to figure out who I am."

Heero remained quiet, guessing where Odin was getting at. He wasn't sure he was ready for that yet.

"Natasha knows about my past. We served together in an underground resistance group in Siberia."

Heero continued to stare at the floor, waiting to see where the man was getting at.

"We all have our scars. Natasha knows about mine and I know about hers. She also knows about you. And, if you'd like, we were hoping you'd come stay with us, at least until you get better."

This was all too much. Was Odin offering him a place to stay, along with his fiancée and upcoming baby? Was he offering him a _home_? Was he out of his _mind?!_ First he abandoned him, then he lied to him, and now he wanted them to be one big happy _family?_ It was absurd!

"Heero, take your time. You don't have to answer me right now," Odin said and stood up, looking at the teen, who seemed very lost all of a sudden.

"Heero—"

"I heard you," he snapped, and looked up at him heatedly, "I'll consider your offer."

Odin nodded, understanding the boy's angered response. "All right," he stood up, "I'll go prepare lunch."

"Don't bother," Heero muttered, and got up as well, "I'm going out for a walk."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

He could feel Odin's eyes on him as he stumbled with much difficulty out of the boat. His injured body protested against each step, but Heero couldn't care less. He needed to get away from Odin before his mind would overload. He needed time to calm down before facing the new dilemma Odin had placed before him.

He walked across the pier towards the Portumna Bridge, which was closed for boat traffic. His strength left him soon after he reached the bridge. While he wanted to get as much distance as he could from Odin, his healing body did not allow it.

Sighing heavily, he unhurriedly made his way off the bridge and into a small field. He chose a small patch of grass to sit on, leaning against an ancient stone wall. From where he sat, Heero could see the river and the piers. Squinting his eyes against the winter sunlight, he gazed at the boat.

Now what should he do? Should he take Odin's offer? Was he willing to trust the man? Was he willing to forgive him for everything and just go back to how things used to be? Did he even _want_ things to be as they used to be?

Life with Odin was the closest thing he ever had to a normal life, but there was nothing normal about them. Odin taught him how to handle a weapon; he taught him how to _kill._ In many ways, Odin was no better than J or any other person who tried to use him as a weapon.

And yet, there _was_ something different about Odin. Perhaps he was biased since he had cared for Odin so much as a child, and perhaps not. His feelings towards Odin were as real now as they were then. Indeed, they were mixed with a lot of hurt that had accumulated over the years, but the basic emotion always remained. It was the same prime emotion he supposed any child would feel towards a parental figure; it was something hard to dismiss no matter how much hurt was involved.

Heero sighed and bowed his head, playing with the soft grass between his fingers. He curled and uncurled the long weeds around his fingers, sinking into thoughts about the past; memories of his time with Odin. Some were pleasant, some were dark. Most were too blurry for him to remember.

He had always wondered what it would be like to have Odin back, and now he knew: it was painful, confusing, frustrating, troublesome and upsetting. To choose a life with Odin, the way he had always dreamed of, didn't feel like the fairytale ending he had always thought it would be.

But what else could he do? It was the obvious next step to take. There wasn't even room for hesitation; he had made the decision a long time ago, back when his heart still busied itself with childish wishes. If it felt right, then he must do it – no regrets. He'll stay with Odin for as long as it would take him to decide if he could truly trust him.

Finally resolute, Heero slowly made his way back to the boat. Mindful of his injuries, he climbed carefully onto the stern. He opened the glass door that lead down to the main cabin, and took a step down the stairs.

A gunshot blasted through the air.

Heero recoiled, and with a surprised yelp, he collapsed onto the stern floor.

A pool of blood gradually formed around his torso. The acrid scent of gunpowder burnt his nostrils as his consciousness began to slip away.

_Odin..?_

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

**To be continued.**

_**Author's Note:**_ I hope that the discoveries made in this chapter didn't come completely out of the blue. It was hard writing the fic without making things _too_ obvious or even worse – totally unexpected. I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter: Were you surprised, or were you disappointed at how obvious it was? Also, I was wondering if you found Heero too OOC while confronting Odin? I tried really hard to make him IN, I'd imagine even he would be upset by the situation.

I hope I didn't make you lose your interest in this story. I promise that there's a lot more to come. Please bear with me.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note:**_ I decided to change the name 'Hiiro' back to the original spelling - 'Heero' - since I realized that some readers might be put off by the Romaji spelling.

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_**Kaifuku**_

_**Ch. .8.**_

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Heero's mind wandered along the edges of unconsciousness. The bullet had tore through his body and left behind a trail of flaming pain. _The Sparks_ screamed at him for his stupidity; for his naïve offer of trust. His heart felt heavier with each accusation; he knew they were right – he shouldn't have come back to the boat. Odin's treachery was a painful emotion, one that his battered heart knew all too well.

"Heero!"

Odin's voice cut through the darkness in his mind. A small light flickered on in his head, raising a question. Why was Odin panicking?

"I knew you're lying when you said how Zero One already dead!" A deep, Russian voice spoke mockingly, "But it's looking like he's dead _now!_"

Heero heard the man laugh, obviously pleased with himself. More darkness crept along the edges of his awareness and he fought to keep awake.

Standing at the bottom of the staircase, Odin whirled around to look at the Russian man – Anya's alleged uncle. The man was holding a smoking pistol in his hand, smirking. There was another Russian brute standing in the cabin, aiming a pistol at Odin's head.

Up on the stern, Heero lay motionless in a puddle of blood flooding the floor around him. It was leaking down the stairs as well.

"You _idiot!_" Odin called furiously, "You've got it all wrong!"

"I know what we came to do," the Russian man replied with detest, "Now sit still and let me finish job." he gestured at the couch with his gun. "Boris, you keeping an eye on him, da?"

Boris' face twisted with a sneer. He took an intimidating step forward, glaring at Odin. The other Russian man turned to climb the stairs.

"No – dammit!" Odin leaped at him, but Boris knocked him down before he could reach the stairs. The two crashed to the floor and began quarrelling.

The Russian man ignored their struggle and continued to climb to the stern. His heavy boots smeared Heero's blood over the wooden surface. He raised his gun, preparing to confirm the kill.

"Vlad – no!" Odin screamed from below as he pushed Boris off of him. He launched at the staircase, grasping for Vlad's foot so he could pull him off the stairs by force. The man kicked him away and hurriedly climbed the rest of the stairs. His pistol was aimed at Heero's head once more.

For the second time that day Heero felt time slow into a halt. _The Sparks_, which were swirling in his head up until that moment, slowly began to merge and take form. They spun around an invisible axis, forming a bulk.

_HARDWARE MY NOT BE HARMED._

Vlad's finger curled around the trigger; he began to press it slowly.

Heero's hand flew up like a snake out of the bushes. He snatched the gun from the man's hold. Using two legs, he kicked Vlad down the stairs. The Russian thug crashed on top of Boris.

Two shots were fired.

One by one, the two men fell lifelessly to the floor. A single round bullet hole adorned each of their foreheads.

Sitting on the floor to the side of the staircase, Odin gaped. He lifted his head and saw Heero sitting at the top of the stairs, aiming a gun at him. The teen's blue eyes seemed extremely calculated, devoid of anything that could be human.

"Heero, it's over – you killed them!" He hurried to shout before he was killed as well, "Put the gun _down!_"

The teen's eerie façade melted away, awareness returning into his blue eyes.

Heero began panting harshly. Sweat plastered his long bangs to his forehead. His left shoulder was leaking blood down his arm, soaking his shirt. The gun was still resting in his right hand, aimed at Odin.

"Heero, put the gun down. It's over." Odin repeated slower this time.

Blue eyes slid shut and reopened slowly. Heero blinked repeatedly, shaking his head. He stared at the pistol in his hand as though surprised to see it. Finally, he lowered the weapon.

Odin released a breath of relief and hurried to climb up.

Dropping the gun, Heero turned to lean heavily against a bench, trying to calm his racing heart and irregular breathing. He looked up at the river ahead.

Anya was standing at the helm of a boat at the other side of the river. She was glaring at him. She held his gaze for a hateful moment before maneuvering the boat away.

"Heero, are you all right?" Odin kneeled by Heero's side.

He tore his gaze away from the girl in the distance and turned to the man.

"Yes," he said hoarsely, "It's just a shoulder wound... bullet went clear out."

"Just a _shoulder wound?_Jesus, Heero," Odin muttered, "Come on, I need to stop the bleeding."

Heero suddenly grabbed his hand. Curious, he turned to look into the boy's fevered blue eyes.

"Odin... you knew... his name."

The man frowned. "No, I didn't."

"Yes... you called him... by name. I heard..."

"You must have heard the other guy, Boris."

"No... Odin, please... No lies..." Heero pleaded, his heart was clenching at the thought of deceit.

"It wasn't me you heard, Heero, honestly," the man insisted, "Now please, let me help you. We need to take care of that wound."

"Demo omea wo... kikoeta..." (But I could... hear you...) Heero mumbled faintly, fighting unconsciousness. He was struggling to keep his head up straight.

"You lost a lot of blood; you're not in your right mind. I should take you to a hospital."

"No!" Heero gasped, suddenly panicked but soon he relaxed, slumping backwards. "No hospital..." his speech was slurred, "No... doctors. Not... safe."

"All right, then let me help you, okay? You need to trust me, I'm not going to hurt you."

"I killed again..." Heero was already thinking of another subject, his thoughts were incoherent. His blue eyes glazed over with shock, staring at the bodies at the bottom of the stairs.

"It's all right, it wasn't your fault." The comforting words meant nothing coming from a man with an equal amount of blood on his hands.

Heero allowed the man to help him to his feet. The blood from the gunshot wound began to soak Odin's shirt as well. Heero leaned heavily on the man as Odin helped him down the stairs.

He shuddered at the sight of the two corpses lying on the floor inside the boat. He felt dizzy, hot and ashamed. He trembled, worn-out by stress and blood loss.

"Just a few more steps," Odin encouraged as he half-dragged, half-carried the injured teen to the bedroom at the bow of the boat. By then Heero's eyes were half-lidded, his mind slipping into unconsciousness as his blood continued dripping onto the floor.

Scooping him up, Odin then laid Heero on the bed. Heero's head immediately lulled to the side, the soft bed luring him into the darkness.

"Don't fall asleep," Odin urged and shook him lightly.

Gasping, Heero reopened his eyes. He blinked, forcing them to remain open and simply stared ahead at the wall.

Odin pulled a large first-aid kit from under the bed. It made a loud clicking noise when he opened it, which drew Heero's attention; he turned to look at the man, his blue eyes clouded.

"I need to clean the wound," Odin explained as he lifted a pair of scissors to cut Heero's blood-stained shirt off. "I won't harm you."

Heero stared, half-asleep, and then nodded, giving his permission.

Swiftly, Odin tore the bloody shirt off and turned to tend the wound. Once he confirmed that the bullet went clear through Heero's shoulder, he began to disinfect the injury.

He was so concentrated on his work that it took his mind a few long moments to realize that Heero's hand was wrapped weakly around his forearm. He turned to look at the boy's face.

Heero's eyes were closed, his face contracted with pain. His skin was sickly pale and his forehead glistened with sweat. He once again realized that Heero had already been suffering from blood loss when he'd been shot.

"Heero, wake up," he implored the boy, "You can't fall asleep. Wake up."

The boy's eyelids fluttered faintly, but he did not open his eyes.

"Heero, please. Me wo samete." (Wake up).

Moaning quietly, Heero managed to lift his heavy eyelids only halfway, exposing a narrow slit of his blue eyes.

For a moment, Odin thought he could see the little boy he had once raised. The child was lying helpless on the bed, in need of his help. However, when he looked up into Heero's eyes, he was no longer looking at the child he remembered. Heero's blue eyes were old, older than they should be. The anguish lurking within the deep-blue was not of the physical kind, it was much deeper. Odin couldn't bear to look at it much longer; he turned away.

"I need to close the wound," he mumbled as he rummaged through the first-aid kit. "It's going to hurt."

While it took the teen a while to respond, he eventually nodded his head. His eyes spoke of past experience with such manners. The memories were unpleasant, he knew what to expect.

Odin pulled a thick pen-like device from the kit and arranged its settings. He placed the tip of the device on top of the gunshot wound and turned to look into Heero's eyes.

"It's going to burn, but it will close the wound from the inside."

"I—I... know..." Heero whispered weakly. He used to have the same device stashed inside Wing, for he often treated his own wounds. Knowing the pain that was about to come, he closed his eyes again and took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Odin felt Heero's grip on his arm strengthen. The teen nodded.

He activated the device. Heero's body went rigid with pain and his grip around the man's forearm tightened drastically. The ache worsened as Odin slowly slid the device into the wound, allowing it to heal the inner tissues.

"Mou sukoshi dake," the man promised, "Ki wo ushinawa naide." (Just a bit longer, don't faint.)

Heero bore the treatment silently, the only evidence for his suffering being his tightly clenched eyes and his strong grip around Odin's forearm.

When the man finally pulled the device away, Heero let out a breath of relief. He slumped against the bed. His body stilled, barely breathing.

"Heero?" Odin asked almost dreadfully. "Are you still with me?"

Seconds passed with no response from the teen.

"Heero, don't fall asleep. You can't. You lost too much blood."

He felt Heero's hold on his arm loosen. The teen's head sunk into the pillow, lulling aside.

"Heero?" He shook the boy slightly.

No response.

Fearing the worse, he shook the boy harder. "Heero, me wo samete. Nete wa ikenai!" (Heero, wake up. You mustn't sleep!)

The teen continued to lie limply on the bed, his skin pale, his breath shallow.

"Dammit," Odin cursed, his worry translating into anger. In a last effort to keep the boy conscious, he raised his hand and slapped him – hard.

Heero jerked up with a gasp. His blue eyes flew wide open. He punched Odin in the face.

The man recoiled, unprepared for the a strong blow.

"_Hardware may not be harmed,_" Heero informed him coldly, his voice detached, almost inhuman. There was no awareness in his eyes.

Odin frowned deeply. "What did you just say?"

Heero offered no reply. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out, collapsing back to the bed.

The man grimaced. "_Fuck._"

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There was a nasty sneeze building up in his nose and he struggled to suppress it. It was those damn bushes he hid in, they emitted such a strong scent of blossoming that it aroused his nose constantly. He covered his mouth with his hand to stifle the sneeze.

"I'm in position, how are things on your end, over?" Odin's voice crackled through the two-way radio. He picked it up and whispered into the receiver.

"I have a clear view of the building entrance, over."

"Good," Odin approved, "Keep watch while I prepare the shot. Make sure he doesn't leave before I'm ready. Over and out."

Yeah, yeah, he knew his job. He'd been doing it ever since he could remember. Less than a year ago he used to take position up on trees and stuff, because Odin said it was safer for him to be high above ground. But then he fell one day and Odin decided the bushes were better. He didn't like the bushes one bit, since they made him sneeze all the time.

Usually, when it was daylight, he simply pretended to be playing on the pavement (sometimes he really had fun and nearly forgot what he was supposed to do), but in such a late hour it would be suspicious to have him walk around all by himself.

He yawned widely and blinked his tired blue eyes. It was indeed late and he was sleepy. He wished that the Target-Man would step out of the building already!

Bored with waiting, he used his tongue to rock a milk tooth back and forth. The stubborn baby tooth refused to fall off. He'd already lost five teeth so he knew that it was supposed to fall sooner or later, leaving another gap in his teeth. Odin always teased him about his toothless smile.

Finally, after what felt likethe whole night, a man walked out of the structure. He was wearing a big thick coat and speaking on his mobile phone.

"He's out, over," he reported via radio. He waited for Odin to take the shot.

About a minute passed and the man was still standing, still alive.

"Odin, he's out of the building," he said again, more urgently this time. There was no response.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his little heart pounding fearfully.

"My weapon's jammed," Odin muttered, annoyed.

"Baka, the target will escape. He's already leaving the building!" Adrenaline rushed through him. They never missed a target before!

"Keep an eye on him, kid, I'll be ready in a sec."

"Fine," he sighed and rolled his eyes, "over and out."

He returned to watching the Target-Man and continued to swing the stubborn baby tooth. It helped relieve the sudden nervousness he felt. He took pride in helping Odin do his job. He didn't know what would happen if they failed this time. The mere thought of it made him uneasy.

The routine he lived in was all he knew and that was all he wanted to know. Any change that might occur in his life was a frightening thought. If they screwed-up the mission Odin might think that it was his fault and might want to leave him, just like mommy and daddy had. He mustn't let that happen!

A car pulled in front of the building and it looked like the Target-Man was getting ready to enter it.

"Odin," he urged the man through the com, "he's getting into a car."

"Fuck," he heard the man mutter and there was a rattle in the background, "Don't worry, kiddo, I'm on it."

It sure didn't sound like it. Anxious, he looked back at the Target-Man who was about to enter the car and slip away from them.

Odin was taking too long; the Target-Man was going to get away. He needed to stall him!

He jumped out of the bushes and opened in a sprint across the road, towards the Target-Man. As he ran, he pulled a pistol from behind his back. He stopped in front of the man, looked up at him and aimed the gun at his head.

"Nani?!" the Target-Man exclaimed.

It was the first time he saw a Target-Man from up close. The Target-Man was actually an elderly Asian man with gray hair and wrinkles around his eyes. It was strange how harmless he looked up close.

Still, he didn't hesitate and aimed the gun up at the Target-Man's head. If Odin couldn't do it, then he would!

The Target-Man was completely surprised. His eyes widened so much that suddenly he could see their color. Although he was Asian, the Target-Man had blue eyes, just like he did.

He gaped at the Target-Man.

Something sad and dark crawled out of the back of his mind. He recalled that daddy had blue eyes too.

"Kisama wa dare?" (Who are you?) The Target-Man demanded, speaking Japanese out of all things! It had been so long since he last heard his native tongue, he nearly forgot all about it.

"Moshikashite, Hideki-san no musuko? Iie, tondemonai." (Could you possibly be Hideki's son? No, that's unheard of.)

"Anata wo _shiranai!_" (I don't _know_ you!) He screamed, frightened by the sudden interrogation. Target-People weren't supposed to speak with him! That wasn't how things worked! He tensed, readjusting his aim at the Target-Man's forehead.

"Iie, matte!" the Target-Man begged, his blue eyes frightened, "Kodomo ga koroshite wa ikemasen!" (Children shouldn't kill!)

"Fuzakennayo!" (Bullshit!) He shrieked, so shaken by the encounter that he didn't think twice before pulling the trigger.

The gunshot echoed loudly through the street.

The Target-Man fell to the pavement, a bloody hole in his head.

A few lights turned on in the windows above.

"Kid – what the FUCK?!" Odin's voice burst through the radio, "What did you do?!"

"I took down the target..." he mumbled, looking down at the blood pooling around the Target-Man's head.

Again that sad, dark, painful, _Something _moved in the depths of his mind. The sight of blood gushing out of a person's skull made him feel as though he'd seen it before, somewhere long ago. He stood rigidly, the gun still hanging in his little hand, and stared.

"Kid! Kid! Are you listening – get the fuck out of there!" Odin's voice shouted through the radio.

Blinking, he came back to reality and found himself staring at the Target-Man he had killed. Suddenly startled, he jumped back and dropped the gun.

"Meet me at point B3 – now!" Odin ordered.

He opened in a run back to the bushes, frightened out of his little mind. His heart raced like crazy. Tears gathered in his eyes and blurred his vision as he ran. He fought the stubborn tears; he refused to arrive to the meeting point crying.

There was a large park behind the bushes he had been hiding in. He ran through it towards the rendezvous point, behind the playground. Odin was already there, standing by the swing sets, holding the violin case that contained his sniping rifle.

He used the back of his hand to wipe the tears away, and ran towards the man. Panting, he stood before him and waited for acknowledgment.

Odin slapped him across the cheek – hard.

Wincing, he grabbed his aching cheek and looked up at the man with guilty blue eyes.

"Who the FUCK told you to take that shot?!"

Although he felt like crying, he kept his cool and continued to look up at the man.

"I was only trying to help," he said in small, quiet voice.

"It wasn't your job to kill him! Not this man!"

He looked up at Odin, confused. Odin was going to kill the Target-Man anyway, so why was he so upset? Weren't all Target-Men alike? Why was Odin so angry with him for doing their job? Was he upset at him for taking a person's life? Why should he feel guilty – didn't Odin do that all the time?

"I don't care about killing," he whispered, trying to explain that all he cared about was helping Odin.

"Well you _should!_" Odin barked heatedly, waving his hands in the air to emphasize his anger.

The tears gathered in the back of his throat, forming a lump. He swallowed hard to get rid of it. The look on Odin's face was hard and grim, angrier than he had ever seen him. He bowed his head and stood quietly, ashamed.

Sirens rang in the background; the police were on their way to the murder scene.

"I thought you'd be happy..." he mumbled, clenching his little fists in order to fight off the tears.

Odin sighed heavily. When he looked up, he saw that the man was gazing up beyond the trees. He seemed to be deep in thought.

"I guess I should have seen it coming," Odin muttered to himself, "It was foolish of me to believe that you'd end up any different."

"Different from who?" He didn't understand what was going on. The tears flooded his eyes once more. Had he let Odin down?

"Where's your gun?" Odin changed the subject.

Knowing that he had gone against Odin's teachings by leaving the pistol at the scene of the crime, he bowed his head down in shame. It didn't take Odin long to realize why he looked so guilty. He heard the man heave a disappointed sigh.

"Great," Odin muttered.

Unable to fight the feeling of shame any longer, he began sobbing quietly. A moment ago he had taken a life and now he stood in an empty playground, weeping like the child that he was! Humiliated by his own sobbing, he only cried harder.

Sighing wearily, Odin hoisted his violin case over his shoulder, and then bent down to pick the weeping boy up into his arms. Supporting the boy against his side, he kept him steady by wrapping his arm around him.

The child draped his small, blood-stained hands around the man's neck. He leaned his head on the man's shoulder as Odin walked away from the park. He looked at his caretaker, not taking his tearful blue eyes off Odin's face as they walked.

"I don't want you to eliminate any more targets unless you have my permission," Odin said after a long period of silence. He looked down at the little boy. "Some people are not for you to kill."

"But you can?"

Odin turned to look away.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the soft thumps that came with Odin's every step. He fell asleep in the man's arms, exhausted.

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"Heero, Heero, wake up."

A pair of hands shook him lightly. He struggled to open his eyes but his eyelids felt like lead. It felt as though only a moment ago he had laid his head on the pillow.

"Heero, you need to wake up, we're getting out of here."

He heard the urgency in the man's voice, and that dark painful _Something_ inside of him shuddered at a distant memory.

_..."Mou jikan da."..._

_..."I won't leave him!"..._

"Heero, open your eyes, come on, me wo sameru na. Ikanakereba naranai." (Wake up. We have to go.)

After blinking repeatedly until his eyes agreed to remain open, Heero stared at the shady figure standing by his bed. It was nighttime and for some odd reason, Odin didn't switch the lights on. The boat was completely dark.

"What's going on?" he asked with a voice still heavy with sleep, "I told you... I don't want to see a doctor."

"We're not going to see a doctor. Come on, get dressed," the man said, and, without mercy, pulled away the covers.

Realizing that he had no other choice, Heero struggled to sit up. His shoulder protested and so did the rest of his body, which felt as heavy as lead. Being exposed to the cold air also made his body shiver.

"Here," Odin said and placed a warm jacket over his shoulders, "I also bought you a pair of shoes."

Heero slipped his hands into the jacket, mindful of his injury, and turned to accept the shoes. He had some difficulties bending down to put them on, so Odin quickly took charge.

"Where are we going?" he asked as Odin tied his shoelaces.

"Back to Dublin," he gave a short reply, and handed Heero a bottle of sports energy drink. "Drink this, you'll need it."

Heero accepted the bottle and took a few sips from the sweet liquid. "This can't wait until morning?"

Odin shook his head and helped Heero stand up. The teen staggered when he tried to stand upright, and the man steadied him.

"I left my car back in Banagher, which we were supposed to reach tomorrow morning, but it's not safe anymore, they'll be waiting for us there. We're leaving the boat here."

As the two stepped up to the living area, Heero noted that the two corpses were no longer there. He turned to Odin with questioning eyes.

"I dumped them in the middle of Lough Derg, it's a lake not far from here. You were asleep." he explained in a hurry, as he gathered a few belongings from around the boat.

"There's a bus leaving Portumna for Dublin in half an hour. We need to hurry."

Heero, who could barely stand upright, his face pale and sweaty, took a long breath in an effort to remain standing. He didn't want to tell Odin that he was in no condition to make the run for it.

He took a step forward and immediately staggered. Odin was by his side in less than a second. Heero leaned on him for support, and the two slowly walked up to the deck. He became sick with each step, but continued walking.

The night air was cold and merciless. 'Castel Harbor' was a small harbor at Portumna Bay. It was packed with boats, but not a soul was outside. There was a narrow road leading away from the port.

Odin guided Heeroto a bench and he sat down to catch his breath. His whole body shivered from blood loss, exhaustion and cold. He watched Odin with tired blue eyes as the man spoke on his mobile phone, ordering a cab. Heero was grateful that Odin had noticed his weakened condition without him having to verbally admit it.

He must have dozed off for he didn't notice the cab arriving until it was already there. Odin helped him into the back seat and sat next to him.

"Is your boy alright?" the driver asked warily, looking at them through the rearview mirror.

"Yes, he's just a little seasick." Odin answered, gazing at Heero worriedly.

"Don't let him get carsick as well," the man muttered and started driving.

The drive to the Portmuna bus station was short. The bus was already there when they stepped out of the cab. Odin helped Heero climb aboard the bus.

There weren't many passengers leaving town on the late night bus. The vehicle itself was almost empty, with many seats to spare. Heero chose the row of seats at the back of the bus, and sat down. Odin came soon after he paid the driver.

"Lie down before you faint," he said quietly so that no one else would hear. Heero lay down on his back across four of the five seats in the row, leaning his head on Odin's lap.

He felt so frail, as though dying, his body weak with sickness and blood loss. The effect of the energy drink had worn off and left him feeling sick to his stomach. Taking deep breaths, he struggled against the nausea, all the while feeling his body quiver internally.

A few more passengers boarded the bus before the driver pulled out of the station. Odin laid a hand over Heero, to keep him from falling during the bumpy ride. The vibrations of the bus soothed Heero's aching body, and he allowed himself to fall asleep again.

Behind closed eyelids, he thought he saw a few of _The Sparks_ flicker dimly in the dark, searching for that dark and elusive _Something_.

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"Donguri korokoro donburiko,

O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen,

Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa,

Botchan issho ni asobimashou…"

Mommy sang softly to him, her melodious voice soothing his young heart to sleep. His bedroom was dark, aside for the dim night lamp that chased the monsters away. He was lying on his little bed, safe under the covers. Mommy was sitting next to him, singing his favorite nursery rhyme.

She caressed him softly, playing with the long strands of brown hair that fell into his eyes. His hair was long, reaching all the way down to his shoulders. He liked it when mommy played with his hair, especially when she brushed it in the morning. His hair was brown like daddy's hair, and long like mommy's hair – it was a little bit of both of them and that's why he liked it so much.

"Donguri korokoro yorokonde,

Shibaraku issho ni asonda ga,

Yappari o-yama ga koishii to,

Naite wa dojou wo komaraseta."

Mommy pinched his little nose while singing. He giggled, shaking his head with delight so that his hair swung back and forth. He looked at his mommy with admiring blue eyes.

"Mizuko, mou jikan da," daddy's voice came from his bedroom's door, "Ikanakereba naranai." (Mizuko, it's time. We must go)

Mommy bent down to give him a goodnight kiss. He knew she was about to leave the room, so he wrapped his little arms around her neck and refused to let her go.

"Mama, mou ichido!" (Mommy, one more time!) He pleaded with a little squeaky voice.

"Mizuko," daddy called her again. He wondered why he wasn't coming in to kiss him goodnight.

"Papa, issho ni utaou?" (Daddy, let's sing together?)

"I won't leave him!" Mommy suddenly shouted in words he didn't know. He wondered why she sounded so sad and angry. "It's ridiculous! It will never work!"

"We have no choice, they'll be here soon. Leaving him here will keep him _safe._"

He could feel the urgency in daddy's voice, but he couldn't understand a word. Was something bad happening? Did he do something wrong?

"Mama?" He reached for her, but she was looking at daddy, who still stood at the doorway. She wasn't paying any attention to him!

"_Mama!_"

"They will come for us and find him here instead! They'll kill him!"

"Not if you do as we planned. We can't afford to take him with us. It's more likely that they'll harm him if he's with us than if we leave him here. Keisuke-san will pick him up later."

"Dammit Hideki! Why did you drag me into this?! I'm his mother! I need to stay with him!"

"Mizuko!"

He started crying, frightened by the strange argument. Mommy gathered him into her arms and held him tight. She caressed his long hair and rocked him gently.

"Shh... nakuna... daijoubu da kara, nakanaide..." (Don't cry... everything's alright, please don't cry...)

She turned back to daddy. "I'm staying here. They won't touch us, it's you they're after."

"Don't be stupid, Mizuko! He's just like me!"

"Leave us!"

Daddy left the room after mommy shouted at him. He probably didn't want to make her angrier. But what did daddy do wrong?

"Papa ga doko he itta no?" (Where did daddy go?) He asked with a small, frightened, voice.

"Papa ga neteitta. Totemo tsukareta kara." (Daddy went to bed, because he's very tired.)

He was tired too; he wanted to go back to sleep hugging his teddy. But instead of putting him back in bed, mommy placed him gently on a chair and took off his P.J's.

"Mou kiru jikan no?" (Is it already time to get dressed?) He asked, confused. He became even more confused when mommy decided to clothe him in a pink dress! He didn't want to be a _girl!_

"Mama! Duresu wo kitakunai! Boku... boku wa otoko da yo!" (Mommy, I don't want to wear a dress! I'm... I'm a boy!)

Mommy didn't listen to his whining and dressed him in a girl's outfit. She freed his long hair from the collar and even tied a pink ribbon on it!

"Iya da! Onna mitai ni naru!" (I don't wanna! I'll look like a girl!)

Mommy didn't listen to his cries. She gathered him into her arms and held him tightly against her chest. She took him with her and they hid behind his bed.

Insulted at becoming a girl, he wouldn't stop crying.

Mommy caressed his long hair sang to him softly. She rocked him gently from side to side, as the two hid behind the bed.

"Donguri korokoro donburiko,

O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen,

Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa,

Botchan issho ni asobimashou…"

"Where is he?!"

"I don't know!"

"Where did he go?!"

_'Donguri korokoro yorokonde...'_

"I don't know! Leave us, please!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

_'Shibaraku issho ni asonda ga...'_

"Please, I have a child with me!"

"Then tell me where your husband is."

"I can't! Please!"

_'Yappari o-yama ga koishii to...'_

"So you'll die, along with your little girl."

"Please... please... don't..."

_'Naite wa dojou wo komaraseta...'_

"No wait! Please! He went—"

A single shot echoed through his little bedroom.

He fell from mommy's hands and onto the floor.

Mommy fell too and he watched the blood flow out of her head.

"Mama! Mama! Okite!" (Wake up!)

_'Donguri korokoro donburiko...'_

"What the FUCK?! You shot the mother?! What for?!"

_'O-ike ni hamatte saa taihen...'_

"She wouldn't cooperate. I had my orders."

"Her child's right here!"

"Then she dies too."

"No! No, forget about it. Let's get going."

_'Dojou ga detekite konnichi wa...'_

"She's a witness."

"She's a baby!"

"It doesn't matter."

"Our orders said nothing about the females!"

"Fine, I'm going after Hideki."

"Mama... okite... ne... mama..."

_'Botchan issho ni asobimashou...'_

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"Donguri... korokoro..." Heero mumbled in his sleep, shaking his head from side to side. His features were moist and pale with fever, his lips parched and his voice hoarse. His mind was elsewhere, caught in a time of innocence mixed with terror. Hazy memories came and went as the few remaining _Sparks_ flickered faintly.

"Shibaraku issho ni..."

Opening a pair of glassy blue eyes, he looked up at the man sitting behind him. The bus was still on the move, rocking him slightly. Odin was looking down at him worriedly.

"Heero, are you feeling all right?"

"I think I'm dying..." he murmured, rather distractedly.

Odin sighed heavily and placed a hand over the boy's forehead. "You're burning up," he said uneasily, "I should have brought you some medication."

"Did you kill my mother?" Heero suddenly asked, so simply, as though he was inquiring about the weather.

"Heero – shh!" the man commanded, looking up anxiously to see if anyone was listening.

"Donguri... my mother... was singing... to me..." Heero continued muttering mournfully, "But you killed her... in the head..."

"Heero, be quiet. We're on a public bus," Odin whispered sternly, looking down at him with strict gray eyes.

"But did you do it?!" He demanded angrily, raising his voice, "Did you shoot her in the head?! I saw you! Mama wo koroshita!" (You killed my mommy!) He tried to sit up, but accidently used his wounded arm. His shoulder burst with pain and he groaned, falling back onto the seat.

A few people turned their heads backwards to see what the fuss was all about.

"Heero, you're making a scene," Odin berated him, looking apologetically at the other passengers. Heero tried to get up again, and he hurried to steady the boy before he would fall off the seat.

"Lie down," he whispered harshly, "You'll tear your wound open."

"But my mother..." Heero moaned, looking up at the man with anguished blue eyes, "Donguri... I remember... the song..."

"I didn't kill her," Odin assured him harshly, "I don't know where you're getting this from."

"I... _The Sparks_... they know..." he tried to explain, but it was becoming difficult to even move his mouth. He trembled with fever, the fatigue threatening to rob him of his mind. "I think they remembered it for me..."

"Heero, please, keep quiet. You're drawing too much attention," the man pleaded with him, though his voice was firm.

"_The Sparks_... they remembered... I forgot... but they remembered... her singing... dying... like the Target-Man..."

"Heero, you're not making any sense. Go back to sleep," Odin told him quietly, "we'll be in Dublin in less than an hour."

"Was I... wearing a dress?" He asked, looking dumbfound.

"What?! Of course not," Odin hurried to say, his gray eyes flustered.

"Otoko da kara... kitakunakatta..." (I didn't want to wear it... because I'm a boy) Heero mumbled incoherently, and closed his eyes, trying to salvage more images from his dream.

He allowed himself to drift between the clouds in his head. Fuzzy memories hid inside the mist, being revealed and concealed behind the clouds. His mother's voice echoed in the space between them, singing to him, keeping him alive.

"...Donguri korokoro..." he repeated her words, hanging onto them likea lifeline.

He felt Odin's hand, cold against his feverish skin, push away the strands of hair that plastered to his face. It was a gesture he was unused to, it was too personal, too affectionate, so he jerked away.

"Sorry," Odin mumbled apologetically.

Heero opened his eyes and saw the man looking the other way, embarrassed. He frowned, wondering how much Odin had changed over the years. Had he always been this kind towards him? He remembered small moments here and there, cracks in the man's iron mask. Odin's kindness was the only compassion he knew while growing up.

"It's all right... if you did..." Heero whispered, looking up at the man with a sorrowful look in his eyes, "I don't mind..."

Odin turned to look at him, confused at first, but then he seemed to realize to that Heero was referring to his mother's death. He took a deep breath, as though it was difficult for him to speak, and his gaze turned dead serious.

"Your mother was murdered by my associate. I wasn't the one to pull the trigger," Odin whispered sadly, "but I didn't stop him either. All I could do was to stop him from killing you as well."

Heero listened, looking up at the man through hazy blue eyes. Despite the fever, the words sunk in. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would. If nothing else, he was relieved to know that Odin wasn't the one to have killed her.

"It's... I know... because I killed... families... too..." he whispered regretfully, closing his eyes against the memories of a burning apartment building, "A little girl... I don't know her name... she had a dog... Marie..."

He felt the man's body tense. Odin was now looking out the window, regret shimmering in his gray eyes. "It's okay; it's not your fault."

They were empty words, which offered little comfort, but he appreciated them nonetheless.

"Why did you... keep me... with you?"

"Please don't ask me that."

Heero was confused by the sudden anger in the man's eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. If there had been some kind of dark motive behind that, then he didn't want to know.

"What was... her name?" he asked instead, "My mother?"

He heard Odin sigh heavily and he opened his eyes so he could see the man.

"Mizuko," Odin replied grimly, gazing out the window with a stony expression. "Her name was Mizuko,"

Heero gazed at him desperately. "And... what's... my name?"

"I don't know," Odin admitted, looking at him sadly, "Your parents lived in hiding," he explained, "they never reported about your birth. We didn't know about you when we came in."

"But do you know their names? My parents? ...Maybe I can find out..."

"Heero, I think it would be better for you to get some rest."

It was not a request. It was an order to stop asking questions. Was he asking too much regarding something he wasn't supposed to know? What was Odin hiding?

"Odin..." he whispered tiredly, the conversation had taken its toll on his already frail body. "Who was... Vlad?"

"Go to sleep, Heero."

"Why... lies?" The teen slurred, half-conscious.

"Because some things are not for you to know."

Unable to keep awake any longer, Heero finally surrendered to the blackness sweeping over his mind. With the last few traces of consciousness, he felt Odin wrap a hand around him, holding onto him tightly, and wondered: Who was this man who on one hand looked after him, and on the other kept misleading him?

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**To be continued…**

_**Author's Note:**_ Once again – thank you so much for the reviews! I'm very grateful that you took the time to answer my questions. This is my first published fic so I'm really desperate to know if I'm doing something right. It was really important for me to know that I'm not messing up with Hiiro's character. I really want to write him as he is, well, at least the way I see him.

So, um... how did you find this chapter? I guess that the answer to the question 'who shot Hiiro?' was kinda obvious, but it was not the main idea in this chapter.

I hope you're still enjoying the story. I will appreciate any review you can give me.

Chapter 9 is coming next week, see you then!

Elle.


	9. Intermission

_**Status:**__ Betaed by Avatar-chik._

_**Author's Note:**_ Since it took me so long to post this, I'm trying to make it up to you by posting two chapters at once.

Elle.

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Intermission**_

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"Iya da!" The small infant screamed, hysteric. In an attempt to find protection, the toddler quickly ran to hide behind the sofa.

Bare little feet padded lightly against the floor. The child was dressed only in a pair of underwear, face red from screaming and cheeks soaked with tears. A pink ribbon hung by a thread from the toddler's long brown hair; sweaty locks were plastered to a tearful little face.

Odin Lowe stood at the center of his apartment, gazing at the small infant, feeling completely lost.

Since he couldn't leave the child by her mother's corpse, he had planned on cleaning the blood off her and then dumping her on the Colony's Social-Services. However, when he had taken off the blood-stained dress she'd been wearing, he was stunned to discover that the infant was actually a _boy_.

Lowe ran a hand through his blond hair, upset. His orders on the matter were clear; any male member of the family had to be eliminated. Perhaps he would have been able to execute the boy if he'd been older, even a teen, but an infant? That was unacceptable. He simply couldn't bring himself to do it.

Granted, he _could_ hand the job over to someone else in Genrō, but the boy's death would still be on his conscience. No; that was not an option. Even _he_ had red-lines which he wouldn't cross.

Being in the Trade for over fifteen years, Odin Lowe had killed too many to keep count. Taking so many lives had dulled his regard for human life. He didn't care who he killed – a father, an uncle, a nephew, a son... the targets were nameless, he didn't concern himself with who they were. All he knew was what Genrō told him, and that was enough of a reason to pull the trigger.

He didn't kill for arrogant reasons like money. Odin Lowe worked for Genrō because he believed in the Cause; he believed in what Genrō did to insure there was balance in the world. Eight years ago, back in A.C. 175, he had been ordered to fire a bullet that changed the course of history. It was the first time he was able to witness firsthand how Genrō were changing the world. After Heero Yuy's death, history slowly began to shift. The world was changing and he had been the one to initiate it.

Genrō knew what they were doing. There was a reason behind each kill; especially Yuy's. Genrō knew what was necessary in order to keep the power balance. They chose their targets well. Odin knew there was a good reason going after Hideki. However, he found it hard to see the point behind killing the man's son. The infant was not a threat to Genrō's plans; he was just a little boy.

Sighing sullenly, the blond assassin tore his gaze from the floor and looked up towards the sofa. The little boy was peeking behind the couch, his large, tearful blue eyes studying him warily.

Slowly and carefully, Odin knelt down on the floor so he would be eye-level with the boy. He reached his hands forward, opening them in a welcoming gesture (he refused to call it a hug). Blue eyes followed his every movement. He tried to smile, though his heart felt too heavy to put on a genuinely reassuring expression.

A pair of small, blood-stained hands hesitantly reached to hold the side of the sofa. The infant leaned sideways and carefully peeked ahead, making sure it was safe.

"It's all right," he said as softly as his frustration allowed him, "You can come out."

Blue eyes blinked, clueless. The child didn't understand a word. Odin remained motionless so not to frighten the boy and waited for him to come out of his hiding. When the boy seemed to hesitate, Odin motioned him to approach. The infant shook his head and quickly vanished behind the sofa.

If Lowe hadn't been so aggravated by the situation, he might have smiled, amused by the boy's innocent belief that a sofa could offer him protection.

"You'll have to come out sooner or later," he called, trying to lighten his tone of voice. Perhaps a friendly tone will ease the boy's fears and lure him out of his hiding.

Not even a squeak came from behind the sofa. With a sigh, the blond assassin stood up and slowly walked to the sofa. He leaned forward and peeked over the backrest, looking for the boy.

A pair of sleepy, tearful blue eyes turned in his direction. The toddler was sitting on the floor, hugging his knees, looking tired and miserable. He seemed so small, so completely out of place. What was he going to do with him?

"So," he forced a smile back on, "No comprende inglés, huh? Parlez franחais?" The man was smiling at his own joke. (_Spanish:_ You don't understand English, huh?; _French:_ Do you speak French?)

The child stared, dumbfound.

"Guess not," Odin muttered, racking his brain for any other pieces of language he knew. "How about Russian?" he suggested grimly.

The child yawned, rubbing his eyes groggily. Odin's eyes narrowed with sorrow as he noted the dry blood on the boy's small hands. The youngster's petite body was smeared with his mother's blood. The boy had refused to leave her side, hanging on to her by tooth and nail, kicking and crying when Odin tried to take him away.

"C'mon," he let out with a tired sigh and bent down to lift the boy into his arms. The child didn't protest, apparently too tired to fight him anymore.

"Let's get you cleaned up before bed," he spoke as softly as he could, for he felt the fragile body trembling fearfully in his arms. The child was terrified of him.

He carried the boy to the bathroom. After undressing the child he carefully placed him inside the tub and turned on the showerhead. The white porcelain was soon flooded with bloody water pouring from the boy.

The small child merely stood still and stared numbly at the red water. His blue eyes seemed glazed-over with either shock or fatigue. Odin carefully scrubbed the blood off with a sponge, an uneasy feeling stabbing him in the chest as he held the boy's small bony wrists. He was so... _small_.

Once he cleaned most of the blood away, Odin filled the bathtub with lukewarm water, thinking a bath might help to calm the boy further. The toddler simply sat inside the tub, unmoving and indifferent, staring at the water. His shoulder-length brown hair plastered to his slender back, gathered into chunks held together by clotted blood. Odin reached for the shampoo bottle and hurried to rinse the boy's hair from his mother's blood.

"Your parents had me fooled," he told the boy, speaking quietly as he scrubbed the shampoo into his hair. The thick brown locks were knotted together so tightly that he couldn't unravel the knots even when the blood had been washed away. "It saved your life, you know."

The infant remained silent, sitting with his shoulders slumped miserably. He looked so small, so fragile. Looking at him, Odin felt compelled to soften his touch, his movement became gentle. He took the child's small hand and worked to clean the blood away from under his tiny fingernails. The boy's head was bowed all the while, staring numbly at the bubbles forming in the water.

Odin looked at him mournfully; the boy was so small... so helpless. For a moment he considered completing his mission and going on with his life. It would be so easy to simply shove his little head underwater and keep it there until he died. Drowning the boy would make things so much easier for everyone.

He reached a hesitant hand towards the boy's head, daring himself to go through with it. However, the moment he placed his hand over the back of the boy's head, he knew he couldn't do it. The boy was so small... The palm of his hand was even bigger than the boy's head. Sighing, he withdrew his hand away.

"I don't know what to do with you, kiddo," he confessed as he gently picked the boy up and out of the tub. He placed him on the floor and reached for a towel. The child blinked sleepily and continued to stare at the floor. Odin knelt in front of him and toweled him dry, ruffling his long hair with the towel. It was still knotted together in chunks.

"I'll have to cut your hair," he informed the boy as he wrapped him in the towel. He reached for a pair of scissors by the sink. When he took hold of the boy's hair, the toddler gasped and pulled back.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, I have to," he apologized softly and placed a thick chunk of wet brown hair between his fingers and prepared to cut it.

"Iya da..." the toddler mumbled sadly as the scissors snapped through his hair. He watched the chunks fall to the floor, his blue eyes flooding with tears.

"Kiranaide..." he cried brokenly, fat salty droplets sliding down his cheeky face, "Mama ni kaeritai..." (Don't cut... I want mommy...)

The child cried helplessly as Odin continued to cut his hair. While the blond assassin couldn't understand much of what the child was saying, the word 'mama' certainly stood out. His heart clenched painfully at the sound of the boy's broken little voice.

He finished cutting the lumps of knotted hair and put the scissors aside. The child's hair was now short and messy, wild spikes of brown hair sticking in every direction. He'd have to give him a _real_ haircut some other time.

The child was weeping quietly, sniffling every now and then. Odin lifted the small infant into his arms and carried him to the only bedroom in the small apartment – his bedroom.

"You can't fool people with just your hair," he spoke quietly, more to himself than to the boy, "We'll have to do something about your eyes."

He sighed and placed the boy on the double bed in the center of the room. The child rubbed his tearful eyes tiredly as Odin turned to the closet and pulled out a large T-shirt.

"See, the McKenzie girls, they had purplish hair but it was easier to hide," he continued speaking casually to the child as he walked back to the bed, "They dyed it so we won't recognize them," he turned to dress the boy, gesturing at him with the T-shirt. "I know that some of your kind wore contact lenses, but I'm not sure you can wear them at your age."

The little boy raised his hands up so the man could slide the shirt easily over his head. Odin gave him a small, sad smile. He was glad to receive some cooperation. It seemed like the boy was slowly realizing that he had no choice but to oblige him.

The T-shirt hung sloppily from the boy's slender shoulder. It was huge over his tiny frame; it made him appear even _smaller_.

Odin found himself overwhelmed with sudden anxiety. Was he really going to keep the boy around? He wasn't supposed to be taking care of him; he wasn't even expected to keep him _alive_. But if he couldn't bring himself to kill the child – then what other choice did he have? If Genrō found out... it would be the end of them both.

The man sighed deeply. He'll deal with it later. It had been a long day, he was tired. He will start thinking of a solution in the morning. There had to be a way out of the mess he'd put himself in. If only he had let his associate kill the boy during the mission...

No. No! He was unable to let an innocent child die then and he won't be able to let it happen now. He'll think of something. There had to be a solution. Perhaps with proper training, Genrō will let him keep the kid around. Maybe they could find good use for him one day. Surely there was a better way of dealing with his kind rather than simply killing them one by one.

What the Hell?! What was he thinking?! Suddenly he was questioning _Genrō?_

Angry with himself, Odin swiftly lifted the covers aside. The child's head snapped in his direction, blue eyes frightened. The man sighed, trying to appear calmer. He gestured at the boy to lie down.

The toddler obeyed silently and crawled under the covers, lying on his side, curled into a fetal position. Odin tucked him in carefully. The child was looking at him warily, his large, red-rimmed eyes fearful and curious at the same time.

"Don't worry," Odin whispered, "I'm not going to kill you."

The child blinked sleepily.

"Get some sleep," Odin told him and turned to leave the room. At the doorway, he turned around and gave the toddler a final, sorrowful look. The child looked back, his blue eyes full of too many emotions for him to decipher.

"You're going to hate me when you're older, kiddo," Odin whispered sadly and turned off the lights. He left the room, leaving the door half-open in case the boy needed him.

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The microwave beeped and Odin reached to open it. He pulled out a Chinese Take-Out carton. The small white carton was soaked with oil at the bottom and filled with what used to be fresh noodles with beef and green peppers. Now it was an oily mush.

"You should have had it when I ordered it," Odin berated the boy as he placed the food on the kitchen table.

The toddler was sitting on a large suitcase, placed on a chair so he could reach the table. He was dressed in the same large gray T-shirt the man had clothed him in the night before. His brown hair was a spiky mess, his blue eyes puffy from crying and his small features forlorn. He stared silently at the carton but didn't take a move towards it.

Odin took a seat in the chair across of the boy's. He handed him a fork, expecting the toddler to start eating. After all, he'd been the one to step into the kitchen looking for (he supposed) food.

The tot had refused any food or drink since he woke up that morning. He spent the whole day lying in bed, weeping while hugging a pillow. His hunger must have drawn him out of the room. Odin was just taking a beer out of the fridge when he turned around and there was the boy, standing silently behind him.

He nearly freaked out at the sight of a child standing in his kitchen. The little boy seemed much disheveled, his eyes tearful, his tiny features were miserable and overall he still seemed so... _small_. It was unnatural for someone so fragile and tiny to be around him. Odin was yet unable to grasp the consequences of rescuing the boy.

While he had been surprised to see the boy in the kitchen, the child simply stood there and looked at him with his big blue eyes. Odin figured that the toddler was hungry and, with much annoyance, he reheated the Chinese take-out he'd ordered earlier that day.

Looking up to check if the boy was eating, Odin was disappointed to see the rascal hadn't made a move towards the food. He was staring again, obviously upset about yesterday's events. Lowe wondered what was more difficult for the infant: waking up in a strange place and finding that his parents were nowhere near him, or that his hair had been trimmed. He wondered how much the boy understood of what was going on.

He leaned two elbows on the table, bending forward to take a good look at the child. He heaved a long sigh.

"I know you're feeling sad," he said slowly, trying to sound reassuring, "but you still have to eat."

He nudged the take-out carton closer to the kid and handed him the fork again. The child didn't even reach to take it from him. Instead, he bowed his head and stared down at his fingers. Lowe's patience began to wear thin.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm not going to play daddy with you," he warned the boy, looking at him sternly, "Either eat or go hungry – I don't care. Just don't _nag_ me when you starve, got it?"

Tears flooded the boy's blue eyes. He sniffled loudly, pouting miserably.

Unlike the day before, Odin didn't have enough patience left in him to deal with the boy. He'd spent the day trying to figure out what to do with him. When no acceptable solution came up, he became frustrated and angry. And now the kid was crying again... he couldn't take it anymore!

"Shit, kiddo, why are you crying?!" Odin demanded, becoming frustrated, "I didn't yell at you!"

Silent weeping turned into small hiccups and sobbing. The boy was fully crying by the time Odin finished his complaint.

"Look," he said, trying to speak softer this time so the boy would quit the damn whining. He reached for the fork and shoved it into the carton. He served a forkful of noodles to the boy's lips.

"I'm only going to do this _once_," he informed the child, knowing full well that it was a lie. He'll feed the boy as many times as necessary as long as he ate something.

"Open up, c'mon," he encouraged, nudging the fork towards the boy's mouth.

The child swung his hand up and pushed Odin's arm away. The fork flew out of the man's hand and onto the floor with a metallic clatter.

Pouting angrily, the boy threw the carton off the table as well. It crashed on the floor, noodles spilling everywhere.

Odin jumped out of his chair, furious. "You stubborn little _bastard!_" He had a good mind slapping the brat across the cheek, but he stopped himself in the last minute. Instead, he took a deep breath, calmed down, and began cleaning the mess off the floor.

"I guess I had it coming," he muttered to himself, carefully scooping mushy noodles from the floor and into the trashcan. "You have every right to be mad at me."

The child didn't even look at him from where he sat. He was staring ahead stubbornly, an angry, yet determined pout on his little face.

After clearing the mess the youngster made, Odin decided to take a different approach. He walked to the living room and pulled out a Palm-Computer from his traveling bag. As he walked back to the kitchen, he pressed a few commands. He settled back in the chair in front of the boy, took a small glance at the PDA, and then looked the boy straight in the eye.

"Watashi wa Odin to iimasu," he said slowly, his accent terrible, as he gestured at himself. "Anata no namae wa nan desu ka?" (I'm called Odin. What's your name?)

The child's eyes softened with surprise. He looked up at the man, gaping. However, he didn't answer the question.

Odin resisted the urge to smack him into talking. Instead, he punched in a few more keys, read the translation and looked up at the boy again.

"Anata no namae wo oshiete kure." (Please tell me your name.)

The stubbornness returned to the boy's eyes. His features hardened and he looked away spitefully, crossing his little arms over his chest.

The Russian assassin heaved a long, frustrated, sigh. He inputted another sentence for the PDA to translate.

"Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?) he tried again. The child refused to even _look _at him.

He keyed in another sentence into the PDA and looked up at the boy, trying to conjure up an honest sorrowful expression.

"Anata no kami wo kiru koto wo gomenasai." (I'm sorry for cutting your hair.)

Tears returned to the boy's blue eyes. He sniffled loudly, still refusing to look at the man. He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, but more of them continued pouring. He wept silently, sniffling frequently, his nose running badly.

"_Oh_ _damn_..." Odin let out and hurried to grab some tissues, "I said I don't want to play the daddy part..." he reminded the infant as he wiped the boy's nose, "I already raised a brother, believe me, that didn't turn out so well..."

The child continued crying silently, shedding silvery droplets onto the kitchen table. The Russian assassin found that he didn't know what to do. Suddenly tired, he leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. He felt as though all the air had been deflated out of him. Never before had he taken his 'work' home with him. His apartments were his safe haven; a place where he didn't have to think about the people he'd just killed. The boy was an unwelcomed addition. He was a reminder of all that was wrong with the world; of what was wrong with his life.

"...you're going to hate me when you grow up," he mumbled into his arms, disheartened.

He sat by the table for a good hour or so, his face buried in his hands until he was nearly asleep. The child wept and wept, silent but miserable. Odin simply waited for him to quiet down not knowing of anything else to do.

Eventually, the child calmed. The sniffling stopped and so did the small hiccups between quiet sobbing. Odin peeked from between his fingers, looking carefully at the boy.

The infant stared back silently. His blue eyes shone with the remaining tears, the last of them sliding down his cheeky little face.

"Are you hungry?" Odin asked, hopeful. The child merely stared. Too tired to feel frustrated, Odin reached heavily for the PDA. He turned back to the boy.

"Onaka ga suikimashita ka?" (Are you hungry?) He asked slowly, the words were very alien to his lips.

The boy titled his head sideways, curious. Odin tried a different phrasing.

"Uh... pekopeko desu ka?" (Are you hungry?)

After a short pause, the child carefully nodded his head.

Odin heaved a long, weary sigh. "You know you just threw away the last of the take-out," he reminded the boy, his voice tired rather than angry. "I'll have to _try_ to cook now."

He got up and began rummaging around the kitchen. The child's eyes followed his every movement. Odin pulled out a pack of spaghetti from the pantry and threw them into a pot of boiling water.

"This is about the only thing I know how to make without ordering take-out," he informed the boy as he began making tomato sauce out of canned crushed tomatoes.

"My younger brother," he said as he opened the freezer and pulled out a box of frozen meatballs, "he used to thrive on this stuff. It was the only thing I made that he agreed to eat, so I figure it's edible for children your age."

He warmed the meatballs in the microwave and finished preparing the sauce. When everything was done he placed a plate full of steaming spaghetti & meatballs in front of the boy.

"Eat this or I swear to God I'll kill you," he muttered and sat back down. He handed the tot a new fork.

The child took it hesitantly. He poked the food with the fork, examining it as though it was an alien saucer that just landed before him. He poked a meatball and rolled it back and forth across the plate until it fell onto the table.

Odin sighed, irritated, and took the fork from the boy's tiny hand.

"Like this," he said and rolled the spaghetti onto the fork. The child watched with curious blue eyes as the man brought the fork to his mouth and sucked the spaghetti off it, making a long, funny, suction sound.

The child giggled, amused.

Odin frowned; surprised to hear the small, childish, chuckle. Apparently, the tot enjoyed seeing him making a fool out of himself.

"Just like Nicolai," he muttered, shaking his head, "All of you brats are the same..." There was something sad in his gray eyes, which turned into something dark and angry before it disappeared.

"C'mon," he said and rolled more spaghetti onto the fork, "You try." He served the food to the boy's little mouth.

The infant tried to imitate what he'd just seen and sucked the long pasta off the fork. He also made a funny sound, which drew another small fit of laughter. He snatched the fork from the man's hand and began rolling and sucking the spaghetti with delight.

"Don't forget the meatballs," Odin reminded him, though amused, "They're homemade you know." He settled comfortably into the chair and watched the toddler eat his dinner.

Halfway through the meal, the boy suddenly stopped eating. Odin straightened back in his seat.

"What is it _now?_" he asked, annoyed. He frowned when the boy turned around to look in the living room's direction. He was staring at the front door.

"What?" Odin asked, confused. He stood up, also looking at the door. "Do you hear something?" Carefully, the assassin reached for a handgun which was tucked under his belt. He drew it out, unlocking the safety as he slowly walked towards the living room.

The doorknob was turning, even though the door was locked. Someone was breaking in. Odin stood behind an armchair and aimed the gun at the door. It opened slowly. He sent a quick gaze towards the kitchen, making sure that the kid was safe, before training his eyes on whoever was entering the apartment. He fixed his aim on the approaching figure as the door opened fully.

A woman entered the small apartment. She was a tall, dark brunette, dressed in an elegant white business suit and a white overcoat hugging her feminine figure. White gloves adorned her delicate hands, along with an expensive, diamond plated silver wristwatch. Her hair was long and lush, flowing down her shoulders in thick curls. She closed the door behind her and turned to face Odin, her features obscured behind a pair of large, fashionable, white sunglasses.

Odin released a breath of relief and lowered the gun. "If it isn't the devil herself," he muttered, shaking his head as he tucked the handgun back into his belt. "Henrietta, to what do I owe the honor?"

The woman gave him a slow, sly smile. She pushed the expensive sunshades up to expose her large, almond shaped eyes. Her dark eyes gazed at him with dismay.

"You botched up the mission, Lowe," she spoke in a low, husky voice, carrying a light Latin accent. "Hideki got away. I'm here to collect the penalty."

Odin frowned. "He got away? But Vlad went after him! The man didn't miss a target in his life!"

Henrietta seemed displeased. "Didn't you read the mission debriefing log? Vlad was working as a double-agent. He infiltrated our lines. It's most likely that he used us to get his hands on Hideki."

"What?!"

"Since you failed to notice that your partner was working against you, the fine will be doubled. We don't pay you to screw up, Lowe."

Odin was stunned to say the least. He had failed, big time. Now he was stuck with the brat, a large fine _and _the guilt. _Great._

A loud clatter came from the kitchen. Something heavy had fallen to the floor. The woman's head snapped in its direction, her dark feline eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Were you so busy entertaining that you didn't have time to read the debriefing logs?" She asked poisonously, turning to Odin with a dark glare.

Anxious as he was, Odin couldn't come up with a convincing excuse. If she found out about the boy being there...

Henrietta gave him another sly, dark, smile. "What smells so good?"

"Uh, pasta," he mumbled, his heart racing a million beats per second.

"Hmm... you sure know how to spoil a woman, Lowe."

He tried to smile, but it came out all nervous. He became even more nervous when he noted that the woman was frowning in the direction of the kitchen.

"My my, Lowe, have you given up on the fairer-sex and turned to pedophilia instead?"

"What?!" He exclaimed, confused. He saw the woman gesture with her head towards the kitchen and his heart sank fearfully in his chest.

"There's a baby boy standing by your kitchen," she said with a low and dangerous voice.

"Shit," Odin cursed and whirled around. The tot was standing in the kitchen doorway, tomato sauce smeared all over his little face, his blue eyes watching them curiously.

Henrietta's frown darkened. She turned back to Lowe, glaring angrily. "He's Hideki's isn't he?"

"Look, I can explain," Odin hurried to say, his gray eyes suddenly fearful. "This is not a contract-breach, I can explain."

"I'll have to report this to Genrō," she continued, ignoring him, "They will _not_ be pleased."

"You don't understand," he tried again, attempting to keep his voice calm – maybe even angry – but inside he was close to panic. "Vlad killed the mother and... I didn't know he was a Talent. Hideki had us both fooled."

"We need to take care of this – _now_," Henrietta stated grimly. She reached a long, elegant hand into her coat's pocket and pulled out a small, silver handgun.

The toddler was still standing by the kitchen door, looking at her with large, inquiring, blue eyes. He seemed to be intrigued by the shiny object she was holding.

"Henrietta – he's just a baby!"

"If we don't kill him now we'll have to kill him later, it doesn't matter," she explained, though she made no move to point the gun at the little boy. "We should do it now, while he poses less of a threat."

The child seemed to have picked up that something was wrong. He took a step back into the kitchen, shying away behind the wall. He peeked at the two adults in the living room, his small features fearful.

"Put the gun down, Henrietta," Odin said slowly, "We both know you won't fire at a child. Even _you_ aren't that coldhearted."

"You don't know what he'll be capable of in the future, Lowe," she hissed harshly, "Genrō cannot allow Talents to live."

"Fine," Odin growled and stomped towards the kitchen. He scooped the boy up from the floor and the child gave out a surprised yelp. Grabbing the toddler by both of his thin arms, keeping him facing forward, Odin marched back towards the dark woman and shoved the boy in her face.

"Here – shoot him!" he spat angrily, rattling the small child. "I dare you to."

Frightened by Odin's actions, the small boy soon began crying. Tears streaked his cheeky face, his silent sobbing filling the room.

Henrietta studied the boy for a long while, the pistol still in her hand. Sighing, she placed the weapon back into her pocket.

"For God sake, Lowe, put him down. You're scaring him to death," she mumbled, looking away.

With a breath of relief, the blond assassin lowered the child back to the floor. The poor little thing was pale with terror. The moment his feet touched the carpet he ran to hide behind the sofa.

"It's going to be impossible to get him out of there..." Odin sighed, feeling sorry for the boy.

"You can't protect him," Henrietta pointed out, "We have no idea what kind of information Vlad sold, or who he's working for now. If Vlad knows about this boy..."

"He doesn't," Odin hurried to assure, "Hideki fooled us into thinking he's a girl. I have everything under control."

"This is for Genrō to decide." The woman turned to look towards the sofa. The little boy had just peeked to see what was going on. When he saw her, he yelped and quickly vanished behind the sofa again. Henrietta's dark eyes softened with compassion.

"What kind of a life is he going to have with you?" she wondered out loud, turning back to face Odin, "You can't raise a _child_."

"It's a better option than killing one," the man mumbled, running a hand through his short blond hair, obviously upset.

"Will it interfere with your work in Genrō?" She asked, skeptical.

"No, it won't."

"You still have Talents to eliminate. I'm here with your next assignment," she said, pulling out a white Disk-on-Key from her pocket. "You realize that the boy will be joining you as you kill members of his family."

The man sighed deeply, his gray eyes sorrowful. "Yes, I know," he mumbled sadly, taking the disk from her.

"I don't envy you," Henrietta confessed, casting another gaze towards the sofa, where the infant was still hiding. "He's going to hate you when he's older."

"Yeah, well, at least he'll have the chance to_ grow_ older..."

The boy peeked once more from behind the shelter of the sofa, eyeing the two adults warily. The two were looking at him with a strange look in their eyes. It scared him so he looked away, ducking behind the sofa for protection. He wanted to go home already...

In the kitchen, a half-eaten dish of spaghetti and meatballs was slowly cooling on the table.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The day they first arrived to Earth, it was raining heavily. Torrents were pouring hard over the runways of Narita International Airport. The space-shuttle had some trouble landing, jolting quite a bit before it touched the ground. Odin feared that the toddler would start crying again (like he had during takeoff), but the boy was too busy looking out the window, clearly in awe by the rain.

After the shuttle had entered the atmosphere and the windows reopened, the child gasped with wonder. As they flew past the clouds, he could see the blue ocean and the Japanese archipelago below. He turned to look at Odin, his eyes wide with wonder, apparently wishing to share the magical moment with the man. Odin smiled at him and nodded his head, telling the kid that he'd already seen it.

Odin supposed that the tot had never been to Earth before. In fact, he was pretty certain that the kid had never seen the outside of his parent's apartment. He welcomed the boy to Earth, but the child didn't seem to understand a word he was saying and simply turned back to the window, gaping.

They stepped out of the Arrival's Terminal and onto the Narita Express platform. Odin held the boy's tiny hand so he would not get lost in the crowds swarming the train station. In his other hand, he was dragging a large suitcase, which was filled mostly with the boy's belongings.

Purchasing clothes for the little rascal had been one of the more excruciating things Odin had to face during the last two weeks, since he more or less adopted the boy. When the saleswoman offered her assistance and asked how old the child in question was, Odin could only reply that he was 'about yay big' while gesturing at his kneecaps. The woman smiled warmly and informed him that the child must be three-years-old and went to fetch him the right sized clothes.

He bought everything the shop's assistant told him he needed for the boy; including toys which he was informed were to aid in the child's development. Otherwise he wouldn't have bought them. The bill summed up to quite a large amount. He couldn't believe how much the child was going to cost him when he calculated the amounts he must spend in the future. To comfort himself, he bought a stylish Armani black leather trench coat, because who-knew when he'd have the money to buy such articles again.

Dressed in the expensive Armani coat over a pair of blue jeans and a gray sweater, the assassin gave out quite an elegant aura. Standing by Odin's side, his little head reaching only as high as the man's kneecaps was the boy. He was dressed in a dark blue duffle-coat over a denim jumper-overall and a bright and cheerful yellow shirt. The toddler was carrying a small children's bag over his tiny shoulders and holding a toy-space-shuttle he got as a gift during the flight.

The tot looked like any other kid Odin had seen around the airport, except for the large pair of sunglasses obscuring his blue eyes. Lowe couldn't think of any other way to hide the child's eyes during the mission. Genrō had agents everywhere. If one of them saw him with a blue-eyed Japanese boy, all of his efforts to keep the boy safe would be in vain. At least for this mission – set in Japan – he wanted to keep the boy's eyes hidden.

They boarded the Narita Express, heading for Yokohama. The kid took a seat by the window. When the lady on the speaker made the regular announcements, the child's head snapped up, surprised. He seemed to listen intently to both the Japanese announcement and the English translation that followed. Odin wondered if the kid was somehow trying to compare the two languages, since his little face was frowning in concentration. As the train began to move, the boy turned back to the window, studying everything behind a pair of sunglasses.

Odin wished the boy would try to speak with him, but no matter how much he tried to coax him into talking, even struggling to speak Japanese, the boy refused to mutter a single word. Odin figured that the boy needed more time to adjust, so he stopped trying so hard. The child will speak when he's ready.

The train ride was over an hour long. Odin's fatigue caught up with him and he fell asleep, leaning sideways. The child remained awake, gazing out the window with an interest that refused to fade. He seemed particularly awed by nature – green mountains, fields, trees and rivers that raced past them as the train sped through the Kanto region.

By the time they arrived at Yokohama, the rain had ceased. The two entered a taxi and headed towards Odin's newly rented apartment. The residence complex was located at the heart of the second largest city in Japan, close to Yokohama's foremost business district: Minato Mirai. The location was vital for his mission, but that was not the reason Odin chose that particular complex.

A large green park surrounded the state-of-the-art apartment building. A long avenue of lush Japanese Oak trees stretched through the center of the park, leading towards the building's entrance. The landlord had taken great pride in the fact that such a large park existed in front of the building, and that was why he charged an astronomical rent. Odin didn't mind, though. He finally had a chance to stay on Earth and he wanted to see some green around him.

Looking down at the boy, the assassin congratulated himself for a choice well made. The infant seemed ecstatic at the sight of the tree avenue stretching before him. Without hesitation – something that was very unlike the quiet little boy – he opened in a run towards the park. Odin paid the taxi driver and hurried after the boy. Heavy rainclouds still hovered above and he didn't want to get caught in the rain wearing his new coat.

He found the tot hunched at the feet of a large oak tree, sticking his little fingers into the muddy ground. Slowly, Odin approached and stood next to the boy.

"What are you doing?" he asked in a friendly voice, since the boy usually responded to him when he spoke softly. The toddler didn't answer, of course, and continued whatever he was doing, sorting out through some fallen leaves. He was getting his fingers all dirty, exploring the mud.

"Your parents didn't let you out much, huh?" Odin asked, knowing that there will be no answer. "That's understandable."

He sighed sadly at the thought, gazing down at the boy's bowed head. His spiky brown hair was tousled gently by the winter winds. He was actually quite adorable with the messy, amateur haircut.

Odin placed his hands in his coat's pockets and waited for the kid to finish his exploration. _Kind of like walking the dog,_ he mused in amusement, which soon turned into a grim expression. _Nicolai liked to play outside with the dogs..._ he recalled sadly and shoved the thought into the dark depths of his mind. Nicolai was dead; there was no point thinking about the child, his baby brother.

Looking down, he saw the little Asian boy pick up something small and muddy from the ground. He brought close to his little face, frowning as he examined it closely. His small grubby fingers reached to clean the mud away from the little object. He smiled.

Noting the smile on the boy's face, Odin knelt down – careful not to dirty his Armani coat – and tilted his head aside curiously. "What did you find?"

The child showed him the little treasure.

"Donguri," he whispered in small, childish voice.

Odin's heart sunk with relief at the sound of his little boyish voice.

"Donguri?" he repeated slowly, gesturing at the small object the boy was holding. "An acorn?"

"Donguri ochichatta," the child whispered sadly, holding tightly onto the acorn, "Sabishiin no?" (Acorn fell. He's lonely?)

"Uh... I don't understand," Odin said, gesturing helplessly with his hands.

The child looked up at him, his blue eyes shining timidly. "Motte iku no?" (Take it?)

"Uh... yes," Odin mumbled, nodding. He had no idea what the child just asked of him. He was simply glad that the kid was speaking again.

The child stood up and placed the acorn in his duffle-coat's pocket. Odin got up as well and reached for the boy's hand. Once the toddler secured his tiny hand in Odin's hold, the two continued the walk back to the apartment building.

Looking down at the boy, Odin was amused by the way the tot's messy bangs bounced up and down as he walked. The bag he was carrying was also bouncing over his little shoulders. He was so small it was sometimes funny.

The child must have felt that he was being watched and turned his head up to look at the man. Odin offered him a warm genuine smile.

"It's good to finally hear your voice, kiddo," he said, pleased. The boy blinked, confused, and returned his gaze forward as they walked.

Odin remained silent for a while, trying to recall a sentence he had asked the boy many times before.

"Say, kiddo," he began the question, "Anata no namae wa?" (What's your name?)

The child's features hardened with stubbornness and anger. Like many times before, the boy pouted angrily and ignored the question on purpose. Odin figured that it was his way to show that he was still displeased with the fact that he had to stay with him rather than with his parents.

The man sighed, shaking his head with disappointment. "You know, kiddo, one day you're going to wake up and realize that you don't remember who you are," he warned, looking down at the boy as they walked. The child was still ignoring him, pouting determinedly.

"When that happens," Odin continued, "Don't come blaming me for not trying to get your name out of you while you could still remember it."

The threats fell on deaf ears; ears that refused to listen, ears that were also unable to understand. Odin sighed heavily and decided to give it one more try.

"So, you're going to tell me your name or not? Namae wo oshiete." (Tell me your name.)

The boy kicked a small pebble out of the way, angry.

"_Fine_," Odin snapped, annoyed, "See if I care."

The two walked into the apartment building.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Odin was one month into the mission, still working on surveillance before he could make his move. The Talents were always very well-guarded. They usually knew that they were being targeted by Genrō.

Meanwhile, the two had settled comfortably in their new apartment; twenty stories above the streets of Yokohama. There was a great view of the city from the balcony windows in the living room. The green park stretched down below, and in the horizon tall skyscrapers towered over the city, obscuring the view of the sea-port. Odin was less interested in the scenery. All he cared about was the direct view he had into a certain office building at Minato Mirai district. His target's office was only a telescope-view away.

The balcony windows were closed, but the curtains were open to reveal the magnificent view. Soft winter light flooded the living room as heavy rainclouds flew across a gray sky, some fogging distant buildings. Strong winter winds howled outside the window, shrieking as they raced past the building.

Inside the high-class apartment, Odin was sitting by the kitchen bar that separated the kitchen from the living room. There were various mail packages lying open before him, while numerous metallic objects lay scattered across the bar's surface. Holding an inventory list, Odin worked to sort out the parts lying before him.

The little boy was sitting on the polished parquet floor in the living room, keeping himself busy. A large flat screen TV was on, displaying some silly children's anime. The boy divided his attention between the television and his game. Whenever the anime characters made a fuss about something, he would look up intently at the television and laugh at the scene. When he lost interest, he returned to playing with the acorns he had collected from the park.

Whenever the child burst out laughing, Odin looked up from his work to watch him. He had noticed that the boy seemed much more at ease since they arrived to Japan. Hearing Japanese around him must have eased the boy's fears brought on by the sudden change of being torn away from home. Odin supposed that the tot felt comfortable now that he could finally understand what went on around him. He, on the other hand, still struggled with the language since the boy refused to say more than a word of English at a time.

The anime ended and some sort of current affairs show began. The toddler lost his interest in the television and returned to the pile of acorns lying on the floor. He had quite an impressive collection; 'an army of acorns' Odin had dubbed it. Each time they walked through the park the child would stop by an Oak tree and pick the prettiest acorn he could find. Odin had no idea what kind of games the kid made up playing with the acorns (while the toys he had bought the boy were raising dust somewhere), but as long as it kept him busy (and quiet), Odin didn't mind.

The assassin returned his attention to the task at hand. He had ordered many separate gun parts via mail to avoid detection. Now he had to assemble them back into complete weapons. The task was tedious, since there were many small pieces from many different packages and it was his job to find out what went where and how.

In the living room, the little boy was arranging the acorns in a neat row on the coffee table. Since the table's surface was made of glass, the boy enjoyed looking at the acorns from below the table as he reached a small hand up to arrange them. _He's a weird little thing_, Odin mused, _always exploring new ways to see the world._ He supposed that it was understandable; considering the secluded life he'd been living so far, hidden from the world in his parent's apartment. Shaking his head, Odin went back to work.

After he arranged the acorns neatly, making sure they were in equal distance from one another and lying in a straight line, the boy began flicking them off the table with his fingers. One by one he flicked the acorns off the glass table, giggling delightfully as they flew across the room and fell to the floor, rolling around.

"Donguri korokoro!"i he laughed enjoyably, his blue eyes sparkling with glee. He threw another acorn off the table, cheering.

"Donguri korokoro!" he called excitedly, clapping his hands and jumping up and down as another acorn rolled on the parquet floor, making a tapping and rolling sound. He hurried to throw a few more acorns, one after the other so they would all roll together.

He giggled with joy, bouncing up and down eagerly. "Korokoro! Korokoro! Donguri korokoro don buri ko!" He sang delightfully, throwing more acorns off the table.

Odin looked up from his work to see what all the fuss was about. He'd never seen the child acting so... his age. He wondered what chased his gloomy attitude away.

"Hey, kiddo," he called in mock-annoyance, "shizuka ni shiro. I'm trying to work here." (Be quiet.)

The child ignored him and threw the rest of the acorns off the coffee table. "Korokoro!" he called as they rolled, "korokoro! Don buri ko!"

"Oi, Donguri!" (Hey, Acorn!) Odin called again, and this time the child whirled around to face him, smiling sheepishly, probably knowing that he was doing something wrong.

Odin's face softened at the boy's wary smile. "Shizuka ni shite." (Please be quiet.)

"Asobitai!" (I want play!) the child whined, pouting.

"Go play in your room. Heya, ike." (Go, room) He returned his attention back to his work.

The kid went to collect his acorns. He held his shirt up to form a sack and gathered the acorns into it. He carefully approached the kitchen bar where Odin worked. He took one acorn, and, standing on his tiptoes, placed it at the edge of the counter top. He began arranging the acorns on the bar, one by one.

Odin watched the growing 'army of acorns' forming before him. He couldn't see the boy, just his little hand as he struggled to reach the tall table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

"Issho ni asobu," (Play together) the child explained quietly.

Odin sighed. "Not now," he said, "I'm busy. Isogashii." (Busy)

Over the past two months he spent with the boy, Odin on occasion wondered if he really _was_ capable of raising the tot. He had assured Henrietta that he could do it without having it interfere with his job, but at times like this he was reminded that the boy demanded a lot of his time and attention. Taking care of him demanded that he be patient, gentle, caring and whatnot. Everything he hadn't needed to be since Nicolai died.

He could still remember the hurt on his little brother's face whenever he refused to play with him; shrugging him off by saying he was busy. The little boy always pouted sadly and walked away, shoulders slumped. The night he left to do his first job as an assassin, Nicolai wanted to play. Nervousness made him angry and Odin brushed the boy off rudely and ordered him to go to bed. The last thing he remembered of his baby brother was the way his little shoulders slumped sadly as he waddled back to his room, miserable. When he came back home, the last of the fire was consuming the building as firefighters fought to banish the flames. Nicolai's body was found the next morning, a scorched little corpse lying under the bed.

Odin felt bile climb up to his throat. He coughed to get rid of it and struggled to compose himself before sinking into dark, gloomy, self-loathing thoughts. He shook his head, refusing to sink into the torment of the past.

"We'll play later," he promised the boy, smiling sadly. "We'll go down to the park. Kouen, ato de." (Park, later)

The little boy heaved a sad, dramatic, little sigh and began clearing the acorns off the bar. His little fingers searched the bar's surface blindly, for even on his tiptoes he was too short to see. He then padded softly towards the balcony doors in the living room, and turned to examine the view and the clouds.

Looking up, Odin felt a small pinch in his heart when he saw the little figure by the window. The tot was a silhouette against the bright windows, a tiny little thing against Yokohama's skyline. The boy's shoulders were hunched sadly, he looked so small and alone. Odin wondered if the boy was somehow looking for his parents while staring out the balcony windows.

Dark thoughts of Nicolai returned to the assassin's mind, questions about the boy's last moments before the fire took his young life. Did he feel lonely too, looking out the window, waiting for his big brother to return?

The man's heart crumbled at the thought. He took a shaky breath, trying to keep strong.

"Hey, Donguri," he called softly. The child immediately turned around. Odin forced on a little smiled and motioned for him with his head to approach. "Come over here. Kite koi." (Come here)

The tot quickly ran towards him and halted by the tall bar stool he was sitting on. Odin bent to pick the boy up, placing him on his lap so they were sitting together on the stool. _At least _this_ boy won't have to feel alone, _he promised himself.

The boy curiously scanned the small and strange pieces of metal scattered before him. His blue eyes lit up with delight when he noticed something he could recognize.

"Kin no donguri!" (A golden acorn!) he called out happily and reached for one. He brought it close to his face and examined it, smiling. "Donguri ureshii! Pikapika shite iru!" (Acorn is happy! He's sparkling!)

"That's not an acorn," Odin muttered and reached to take the bullet away from the boy. "Donguri janai. Abunai mono da." (That's not an acorn. It's a dangerous thing.)

"Abunai mono?" (Dangerous thing?) the child wondered out loud, staring wide eyed at the pile of shiny golden acorns lying on the table. He turned back to Odin, confused.

"Demo, kirei da... Doushite abunain no?" (But it's pretty... Why dangerous?)

"Uh, that was too fast. Come again?"

The child frowned, obviously unhappy. His blue eyes seemed distressed. He huffed to throw some messy bangs out of his eyes, childishly annoyed. He looked up intently at Odin. "Why... abunai?"

"Oh," Odin let out, secretly pleased that the boy tried to speak English. He was glad for any opportunity he had to force the boy to speak in English, since it wasn't often that he dared to speak the language. Odin had been the one struggling with Japanese, instead of the other way around. With time he had memorized a few words and phrases he used frequently. When the kid spoke to him, he usually tried listening for the few words he _could_ recognize, so he more or less knew what the brat was talking about. Ultimately _he'll_ end up speaking fluent Japanese, while the little rascal still refuses to speak a word of English.

"Um, it's dangerous because it can hurt people," he explained to the boy, "Wakarimasu ka?" (Do you understand?)

The child nodded. "Warui kin no donguri?" (A bad golden acorn?)

"Yes, very warui." (Bad)

"Doushite?" (Why?) He was looking at the man with large, curious blue eyes.

Odin assumed that the boy was asking why he needed the 'dangerous golden acorn'. He sighed. "I need it to do my job. Shigoto." (Work/Job)

"Donna shigoto na no? Waruin no?" (What kind of job? A bad one?)

Odin had to take a moment to figure out the fast stream of words. "Yes," he finally approved, "it is very warui. Totemo." (Bad; Very)

"Boku... tetsudatte mo ii?" (Can I help?)

"But I just told you it's bad _and_ dangerous," Odin pointed out. The kid was unbelievable! Did he understand _any_ of what he just told him?

"Demo... Donguri-san to asobitai..." (But... I want to play with Mr. Acorn...)

Odin frowned, debating with himself over the meaning of the long sentence. He recognized the word 'play'. Sighing, he handed the boy one bullet.

"Fine," he muttered, giving up to the boy's pleas, "I'll teach you how to load them into a magazine."

He reached for an empty handgun magazine and handed it to the boy.

"Just don't throw the bullets around like those damn acorns, got it?" he warned, waving the magazine in front of the boy's face. "No korokoro. Abunai. Wakaraimasu ka?" (no rolling around. It's dangerous. Understand?)

The child smiled, nodding. "Hai!" He reached his little hands to accept the empty magazine.

Odin showed him how to load the 'golden acorns' into the clip. The boy was bouncing impatiently on the man's lap, waiting for his turn to play with the 'golden acorns'.

Odin gave him three magazines to load and returned to his work, trying to assemble the handgun itself. Not much time had passed before the toddler placed three fully loaded clips in front of the man. He turned to Odin, an expectant look in his blue eyes.

The blond assassin was impressed by the speed in which the child managed to load the magazines, considering his tiny fingers and all.

"Tanoshii asobi da! Mada tetsudatte?" (Fun game! Still help?)

He had no idea what the boy was babbling about, but he still said: "Sure." The kid obviously wanted more work, so he obliged him.

Holding two parts belonging to a handgun, Odin handed the boy similar parts and showed him how to connect them. The boy imitated each step the man showed him and bit by bit a small pistol formed in his little hands.

The two worked silently, Odin teaching and the boy eager to learn. The child had to learn how to coordinate his little hands to use a miniature screwdriver. He bit his lower lip in concentration, struggling to work his little finger to screw the gun pieces together. Overall he assembled the gun with little difficulty, only dropping a few of the smaller parts every now and then. Odin was impressed, even awed.

"Hey, Donguri," he called as they worked to clean the barrels using a cylinder-shaped brush. The child turned to him, a question in his eyes.

"How come you can pick up on things so fast, but you can't speak a full sentence in English?"

The toddler shrugged and turned back to his work. He placed the brush down and reached for one of the magazines he'd loaded earlier. Using his tiny, greased-smeared hands, the toddler tried to find a place where he could fit the clip. He found how to secure the clip into the handle of the gun, concentrating deeply.

"English bad," he suddenly answered as he turned to Odin, showing him the fully-assembled pistol. "I'm not like."

Odin stared, too stunned to find his voice. It took him a minute to compose himself, though he was probably pale with shock. Henrietta wasn't kidding when she said that the boy will surprise him with his abilities.

"Damn _smartass_," he muttered and took the gun from the boy. "Don't play with guns."

The two worked together all through the afternoon, assembling the weapons.

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Odin stood in front of the fresh fish counter at a local supermarket, holding a shopping basket filled with tonight's dinner. He eyed the selection of sea food with little keenness. Behind the counter, a middle-aged Japanese woman was waiting to take his order.

Standing by Odin's side, munching on a peanuts & chocolate candy bar, was the tot. Chocolate was smeared around his little mouth, also staining the collar of his colorful shirt. As usual, a pair of sunshades masked his eyes.

The lady behind the counter looked at the boy curiously, probably wondering what kind of a strange childish fetish made him want to wear the sunglasses inside the store, in the middle of winter.

As the toddler looked around to supermarket, the glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, exposing his curious blue eyes. The saleswoman smiled warmly.

"Oi, Donguri," Odin warned, casting his gaze down briefly, "megane." (Hey, Acorn, glasses)

The boy hurried to push the sunglasses up again, hiding his eyes behind the dark lenses.

"Chotto ookisugiru, ne?" (They're a bit too big, no?) the Japanese saleslady asked with amusement, looking at the boy fondly. "Kawaii kodomo desu ne..." (What an adorable child...)

"Yeah, well, try getting him to eat something other than chocolate and spaghetti..." the assassin muttered under his breath. The woman smiled kindly, obviously having no idea what he just said. He sighed and pointed at a nice-looking piece of Salmon fillet. "Are wo kudasai," (That one please) he said with his terrible Japanese accent.

The woman nodded and began packing the Salmon. He stared at it, somewhat disgruntled.

"I don't suppose you can give me a juicy steak instead, can you? All you people have around here is _fish_."

The woman smiled again, not understanding him but not showing it either. He sighed and looked away, back at the toddler by his side. The little boy was swaying back and forth on his heels, smearing chocolate all over his tiny face while looking pretty pleased with the world. Odin couldn't help but smile.

The woman handed him the packed piece of Salmon.

"Domo," he thanked her and turned to walk away. He placed a hand on the child's shoulder, guiding him to follow.

"Guess what we're having for dinner," he said sarcastically, "_Again._"

"Sakana!" (Fish!) the boy called happily; proud that he knew the answer.

"You nailed it, kiddo," the man praised, amused. They paid at the checkout and walked out to the parking lot, searching for Odin's black convertible.

"Demo... basuketi wo tabetai!" (But... I want basuketi!) the child chirped as they walked to the car.

Odin smiled widely. No matter how much he tried to teach the tot to say 'spaghetti', the kid still couldn't pronounce it. While most of his speech was intelligible to all, there were some words only Odin could understand, since he knew the boy so well.

"You want to have that _every_ night," Odin laughed and pulled out his car keys.

However, there was no need for them because the car door was already open.

Instantly alert, Odin tensed and reached a hand forward to block the boy's path. The child stopped abruptly. He looked up, curious. His small face paled with fear as he watched Odin pull out a gun from under his shirt.

"Doushitan no?" (What's wrong?)

"Abunai, sagatte," (It's dangerous, stay back) Odin whispered harshly, gun ready as he approached the open door on the driver's side.

A slim, beautifully tanned leg stepped out of the car, wearing a diamond ankle bracelet above stylish white high-heeled shoes. Once the perfectly carved pair of legs touched the ground, a tall, dark woman stepped out of the car. She was dressed in a white women's business outfit and skirt. Her long, lush hair flowed down her slim shoulders. She flipped her hair back and smiled slyly at the man pointing a gun at her.

"_Konichiwa_, Lowe," she greeted with a low voice, "Fancy meeting you here."

Sighing, Odin lowered the gun. He looked around to make sure no one saw him, and covertly tucked the weapon back into his belt.

"The same goes for you, Henrietta," he muttered darkly, "You have a talent for breaking into my property."

The woman gave him a slow, sexy smile. "Nothing you own is_ your_ property, Lowe. Remember who pays your bills."

She cast her gaze down, looking at the boy who was shying away behind Odin's legs, looking at her from behind a pair of sunshades.

"Fashionable," she commented dryly, "but it won't help you hide what he is."

Feeling scared under her sharp gaze, the boy hid away behind Odin's knees. He only dared a little peek every now and then.

Henrietta frowned at the boy, then at Lowe. "How are you handling him?"

"We're doing all right," Odin said, nudging the boy closer to him protectively.

"He seems content," the woman pointed out, nodding.

"I think he is."

"Has he been asking questions?"

"Not yet."

"I see."

"What are you doing here?" Odin decided to take her attention off the boy, before she might say or do something to him. "I'm still on surveillance; I have time before I need to finish the job."

"I'm aware of that," the woman droned, still glaring at the boy, "I'm here with different orders."

"You're pulling me off the job?"

"No, I'm giving you an additional one," she gestured at the boy with her head, "Genrō wants him trained."

Down below, the child raised his head to look up at Odin. The man appeared to be completely stunned. The boy was worried.

"_Trained?_ What for?"

"That is none of your concern. Genrō has future plans for him."

"But he's just a little boy, how can I train him?"

"The same way you were trained when you joined us: let him assist you in your missions."

"I was fifteen when I joined; he's only_ three!_"

"He's capable of more than you know," she pointed out matter-of-factly, a hint of hatred in her almond-shaped eyes. "These are your only options. You both train the boy and keep me updated regularly on his progress, or I'm going to shoot him through the head, right now."

To make her point, Henrietta reached into her pocket to reveal the tip of her silver pistol. She tucked it back in before anyone noticed and fixed a dark glare on Odin, daring him to refuse.

The blond assassin sighed deeply and bowed his head, looking down at the boy, who was holding onto the man's trousers, seeking protection.

"Fine," he whispered resignedly, his gray eyes sorrowful, "I'll do it."

"In that case, enjoy your dinner," the woman gave him a slow, satisfied, smile. "The fish smells _wonderful_."

She turned to walk away, her tall high heels tapping loudly against the asphalt.

Once she was a fair distance away from them, Odin turned to look at the boy. He too was watching her warily, the fear evident on his little face.

Bending down, Odin picked the toddler up to his arms and held him against his waist. The little boy wrapped his arms around the man's neck to steady himself. The sunglasses slid down his nose once again, Odin pushed them back up.

"Kowakatta ka?" he asked the boy. (Were you scared?)

The tot shook his head bravely, his spiky bangs swinging from side to side. "Odin to issho ni kara." (Because I'm with you.)

Odin offered him a sad smile. He adjusted his hold on the boy so he would not slip down. The two turned their heads to look at the woman as she disappeared behind the corner.

"Eigo... warui..." (English... bad) the child mumbled to himself.

"Not necessarily, kiddo," Odin tried to lighten the mood by sounding a bit more cheerful. He put the boy back down and placed the groceries in the car. Once he secured the small infant to his child-car-seat at the passenger side, the two drove back home. The child was staring out the window throughout the ride, looking deep in thought.

"Ne... Odin?" he mumbled quietly, looking out the window. "Tu-re-i-ni-n-gu-tte nani?" (What's 'training'?)

Surprised by the question, the man turned to look at the boy. "It's... a game..." he said slowly, "We're going to play from now on."

The child seemed skeptical. He took off the sunshades and looked up at Odin with his big, innocent blue eyes. "Geimu? Donna geimu na no? Tanoshiin no?" (Game? What kind of game? Is it fun?)

Odin swallowed. He turned to look at the road again. "Yes, sure, lots of fun," he tried to sound excited about it even while he was glaring angrily at the road ahead. "You'll get to play with the kin no donguri." (Golden acorns)

"Hontou?" (Really?) the child seemed calmer at the mentioning of the 'golden acorns'.

Odin smiled sadly and reached a hand to ruffle the boy's already messy hair. "Yeah, Donguri, really really."

Reassured, the boy nodded and turned back to the window. The city of Yokohama reflected in his naïve blue eyes as he watched the world outside the car's window. He wondered if they'll be having the fish or basuketi for dinner.

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Brussels: January A.C. 197. It was a sunny afternoon, merely two weeks after the Marimeia Incident. In a small coffee shop, set in a narrow cobble-stone alley, slow French music was playing the background, filling the street with pleasant melodies. A delicious aroma of rich coffee and pastry filled the air. Outside the small café, a few round white tables were set. Between the guests sat a man, reading the newspaper over a cup of black coffee. He was dressed in an expensive Armani leather coat; his face was hidden behind the paper as he read. An ashtray full of burnt out cigarette buds was sitting next to the steaming cup of strong coffee.

The newspaper was a special edition, double in size compared to regular daily papers. In the days that followed the Marimeia Incident, such large editions were a common sight. The headlines dealt with sketchy profiles about the Gundam pilots, along with pictures of them and their Gundams. There were various reports about their supposed whereabouts, since everyone was looking for them. The War Trials were to be held soon, and the pilots were facing charges along with many other military and government personnel.

Currently, there was only one pilot whose whereabouts were known. Gundam pilot 01 was being held in a military hospital in Brussels, recovering from the battle. Due to his serious condition, he was the only pilot who didn't have the ability to escape. The paper reported about the possibility that the young pilot was currently comatose and under the custody of the former 'Queen Relena'.

The steady sound of high heel shoes echoed throughout the narrow street. The resounding tapping approached the coffee shop and stopped when it reached the table where the man was sitting. Sighing deeply, the man folded the paper. His dark black hair was tousled by the wind, some bangs obscuring his gray eyes. He looked up at the woman standing in front of his table. As usual, she was dressed elegantly in white, her long, lush and curly brown hair falling gracefully over her slim shoulders. A pair of white, fashionable sunshades hid her eyes.

"Henrietta," the man greeted with a sarcastic smile, "You look as stunning as ever."

The dark woman smiled politely and took a seat by the table. A waiter eyed her in question but she shook her head 'no'. She turned back to the man, who was now lighting a cigarette.

"Black hair doesn't suit you," she said dryly, examining the man, "But the new face is a nice change."

The man snorted and continued to smoke quietly. He noted Henrietta was eyeing the paper he'd been reading. She turned back to him.

"I hear you go by Smirnov now. It's an interesting choice, to go back to your roots," she said casually, like an old friend, "And, with your new face you could almost pass for your own brother. Was that a deliberate choice – _Nicolai?_"

She smirked and he glared, exhaling smoke at her deliberately. She simply waved her hand elegantly in front of her face to chase away the smoke.

"Dare speak that name again and I'll rip your heart out throw your throat," he hissed dangerously, a dark look in his eyes.

"Then you shouldn't have chosen it," she pointed out.

"Then again," he snorted, "You might not _have_ a heart."

"Enough with the clichés," she ordered, serious, "I'm here on business."

"I never thought otherwise," Nicolai muttered and crushed the cigarette bud into the ashtray. He cast his gaze down at the newspaper, staring at the headlines. He sighed.

"I gather Genrō wants me to do something about the boy."

"Yes," the woman confirmed, smiling darkly, "He played his part, he's no longer needed."

"He's the last of his kind."

"All the more reason to eliminate him. He's too much of a risk to the Balance. He can compromise the peace."

"He'sthe reason there _is_ peace," Nicolai growled angrily, "your logic is flawed."

"Genrō's logic is never _flawed_," she reminded him coldly.

Nicolai snorted. He picked up his coffee to have a sip and glared at the woman. "Is that all?"

Henrietta leaned back into her chair, crossing her legs. "No," she said, pulling a white Disk-on-Key from her suit's pocket. "Before you kill him, there are a few loose ends you need to take care of. I have the mission plan stored here."

She handed him the disk and he took it, still scowling.

Henrietta stood up and prepared to leave. Before she did, she turned back to look at the man. The man looked up at her from where he sat, still glowering.

"You knowingly sold your soul to the devil," she reminded him dangerously, "don't start complaining now when it's becoming uncomfortable."

With that said, she left, her high heels tapping loudly on the cobble-stone pavement. Nicolai watched her retreat, his gray eyes shining sorrowfully.

"It became uncomfortable a _long _time ago, Henrietta..."

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The hospital corridors were dim and quiet. The halls were empty, only a few nurses were on duty, manning their stations. Nicolai walked quietly past one nurse station and a nurse looked up, to see who was there after visiting hours. When she noticed the young woman leading the man through the halls, she relaxed and resumed reading her book.

"I'm here all the time," the young woman explained quietly to Nicolai, "They're used to me."

"I see," he whispered, looking ahead, at the back of the girl's head. Her long blond hair was swinging slightly as she walked. She seemed a lot shorter than she appeared to be on television. She only reached as high as his shoulders. It made him wonder how tall the boy would be. If he was capable of standing, that is.

Relena Darlian stopped when they reached the last door down a long hallway. She turned to look at him, raising her chin up, as though trying to appear taller.

"He's in here," she said. Her cerulean blue eyes shimmered warily. It seemed that she was still debating on whether or not she could trust him. Nicolai couldn't blame her. After all, he _did_ drop on her out of nowhere, claiming to be a ghost from Heero's past.

'Heero'; it was strange that the boy ended up with such a name. Fate was ironic in so many ways.

"It's okay," Nicolai said quietly, trying to ease her mind, "I assure you that it's as hard on me as it is on you." He smiled sadly. "I haven't seen him in almost ten years."

She nodded, thoughtful, sympathetic. Slowly, she opened the door.

The first thing that registered was the steady beeping of the machines. A heart monitor and a respiration machine filled the air with the sounds of artificially maintained life. The room itself was very dimly lit and it took some time for his eyes to adjust. Carefully, he took a step into the room. He felt as if he was treading on holy ground.

Across the room was a single hospital bed. A lone, slender figure lay perfectly still under soft sheets. Various wires and electrodes connected the slim figure to the life support machines. The only movement was the mechanical rise and fall of his chest, induced by the respiration machine.

"It's hard to see him like this," Relena confessed quietly. She was still standing in the doorway, her eyes showing that she was almost afraid to enter. "I'm shocked to see him like this each time I walk into the room. Heero is so strong... seeing him on that bed... it's... unreal."

Nicolai nodded slowly, showing his sympathy. He walked the few remaining steps towards the bed, and took a good look at the teen for the first time.

The boy's eyelids were closed in a coma induced sleep. A respiratory tube went into his open mouth and down to his lungs, to keep him breathing. The teen's features were pale with sickness. He did not look healthy at all. Nicolai sadly noted that it was no longer the cheeky face of a child. The boy's face had gotten sharper and thinner over the years.

The rest of his body was tucked under a thin blanket, which still allowed seeing the outline of his muscular frame. His bare arms lay limply over the bed, electrodes connected to a few fingers, monitoring his heart rate. His hands appeared strong, well-trained, but now the long fingers lay lifelessly across the bed, not even twitching.

Nicolai stared numbly at the teen's hands. They were so much bigger than the hands he remembered, the tiny, childish fingers that sometimes had difficulty loading a gun for they were so small.

Hesitantly, he reached a hand for Heero's, but stopped, uncertain. He could feel Relena's eyes on him; she was studying his every move. He took a shaky breath and reached to touch the teen's hand. It was cold, soft, and lifeless. He withdrew his hand, unable to stop the dreadful feeling in his chest.

"The doctors can't say if he'll ever wake up," Relena sighed and took a step into the room, hugging herself as though cold. "He's been like this since Christmas."

"Can you believe this boy used to smile whenever he saw an Oak tree?" he mumbled, smiling down at the lifeless boy. "He liked to collect acorns..."

Relena came to stand by his side, looking forlornly at the boy on the bed. She was still holding her arms around her chest.

"I'm afraid I can't imagine Heero smiling at anything," she confessed sorrowfully.

"He used to," Nicolai mumbled, "a long time ago."

"I think that some of the doctors are plotting to kill him," she changed the subject, her features hardened with anger. She turned to look up at Nicolai, her cerulean eyes intense. "You said you can help him."

"Yes, I can," Nicolai replied and turned back to look at the boy on the bed. He reached for his cold hand and held it apprehensively. He studied the teen's pale, expressionless face. No response. Why would there be?

"Hey, Donguri," he tried whispering just in case, a sliver of hope still residing somewhere in his heart. The boy's eyelids didn't even flutter. He was completely unresponsive.

Sighing, he let go of Heero's hand, his gray eyes grim.

"I'm going to take him out of here," he promised Relena, "I'll need money and medical supplies."

Relena nodded decisively. "Anything you need," she whispered, looking helplessly at Heero's unmoving figure. The ex-pilot's chest rose and fell in an equal rhythm, but it wasn't natural. The machines were the only thing that was keeping him alive.

She wanted to take his hand, but unlike Nicolai, she couldn't bring herself to touch the limp, fragile-looking hand. She was afraid Heero might disappear if she dared to touch him. It was enough that he was here, somehow alive. If she could give him the time and chance to recover, then that was enough.

Turning to Nicolai, she looked up at the man with a silent plea in her eyes. "Promise me you'll keep him safe."

The man nodded. "I promise."

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_**To be continued...**_

i Korokoro small and round thing rolling


	10. Chapter 9

_**Status:** Betaed by Avatar-chik_

**Reminder**: This story has **no pairings**.

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_**Kaifuku **_

_**Ch. .9.**_

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Seven days later, Heero finally opened his eyes. He found himself lying on a soft bed, feeling feeble, yet revived. Dim sunshine filtered into the room through small, narrow windows high above. The room didn't feel like it was on the boat, since it wasn't moving. He blinked a few times, trying to adjust his blurry vision.

Slowly, he pushed himself to a sitting position. The blanket slipped down to his waist, exposing his naked torso and bandaged shoulder. He sighed with irritation, fed up with being bedridden so often. His shoulder felt fine though, it didn't ache as much as before. He turned to examine the room.

It was a small and plain bedroom, containing a bed, a mirror and a small dresser. When he looked up at the narrow windows, he could see people's feet walking down the street. The room was probably underground, a basement perhaps.

After some consideration, Heero decided that he felt well enough to get out of bed. A set of fresh clothes lay folded neatly on the dresser, waiting for him. After he dressed, he turned to examine his reflection in the mirror. He gave himself a quick once-over, taking in the sight of his disheveled brown hair, his sickly pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes. His blue eyes appeared to be sunken deeply into his skull; he was unhealthily thin. The image in the mirror resembled that of a famished child, and _not_ a soldier. Nine months of coma, along with recent ordeals, had taken their toll on his once muscular frame. The reflection staring back at him from the mirror was no Gundam-pilot material; he was looking at his own ghost.

Dissatisfied with what he saw, Heero looked away. It wasn't enough that _The Sparks_ often left him confused; now even his _reflection_ didn't feel like him anymore. He was slowly losing the sense of who he was.

Troubled, he walked out of the room. He ran a hand through his hair in order to tame a few messy bangs, trying to give himself a somewhat presentable appearance. He needed a haircut, he reminded himself.

After crossing a small corridor, Heero reached a modest living room and kitchen. Someone was standing by the kitchen top. It was not Odin, but a woman. She was dressed in an elegant white business suit that hugged her petite, feminine frame. Her back was facing him, so all he could see was her chocolate-brown hair, which reached down to her shoulders. It bounced from side to side as she moved around the kitchen, pulling a teacup out of the cupboard.

Heero froze. Something deep inside of him stirred with fear. His heart was beating faster and he had little idea why. He berated himself for feeling scared, and took a determined step towards the kitchen.

At the sound of his footsteps, the woman turned around, startled.

"Christ, you scared me!" She called, though she was smiling with relief.

Heero stared, his eyes studying the young woman's face with disbelief. He had a hard time recognizing her with the shoulder-length brown hair.

"Relena? What are you doing here?"

The former-blond smiled, as though the answer was obvious. "I own this place; I purchased it for Nicolai's use. It was no longer safe for you to be on the boat."

Heero frowned at the information. "I thought Odin lives with his fiancée."

"He does," she concurred, preparing some tea, "This is a different apartment."

"A safe house?"

"Yes, I suppose it is," Relena nodded.

He looked around and noted that an old television set in the living room, displaying a newscast. It seemed to be reporting on some important political issue, but the volume was too low for him to hear. He saw footage of a brunette Relena, stepping out of what seemed to be a courthouse. He turned back to face her.

"Why did you dye your hair?"

The girl smiled, pleasantly surprised by the personal question.

"I needed a change of image," she explained, "People kept seeing me as 'Queen Relena' and I wanted them to get it into their heads that I'm not the same girl I used to be."

He nodded, agreeing with her logic. He shifted his gaze back to the television. A news commentator was speaking about the footage of the court meeting previously displayed. The volume was still too low for him to hear.

"I didn't tell you before," Relena was looking at him with a pair of intense cerulean eyes, which were emphasized even more now that she had brown hair, "but all of the pilots live in hiding."

"Yes," he muttered, distracted by the television, "the government wants to prosecute us for crimes of war."

"I'm afraid so," Relena's eyes hardened with determination. "But I'm not going to let them turn you into scapegoats. You and the other pilots are not to blame for the war."

He turned to her, surprised.

She smiled sheepishly. "I'm not alone in my struggle. Do you remember Sally and Noin? Even Dorothy works with us."

He needed to sit down, her words were too much to absorb at once. He pulled out a chair next to the kitchen table. Leaning his head on one hand, for it suddenly felt too heavy to keep upright, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. _The Sparks_ asked if they could come out and play, but he told them to sit quietly for now; he had more important things to do than entertain them.

Relena served Heero some tea and sat down as well.

"I was on my way to Brussels for a court meeting, but I wanted to stop by to see how you're doing. I heard about you being shot," she cast her gaze down to the table, "I was worried."

"I'm fine," Heero said, though he was still leaning his head on one hand, fatigued. He felt ill, and his head pulsed with pain from the overload of information.

Though she could see straight past his words, Relena nodded, accepting his assurance. She took a few sips from her tea and placed it back on the table.

"Heero, you and the rest of the pilots are facing serious charges in the Brussels' War Trials. I'm trying to enter you into the Witness Protection Program that Preventer opened. I'm hoping that if you'll be willing to testify against the people who were truly behind this war, the charges against you will be dropped."

He stared at her, his mind blank. He could hear the words coming out of her mouth, but they got all jumbled up in his head. _The Sparks_ were confused because they found it hard to recognize her as a brunette. They ran around in circles, trying to sort out the memories and even rewrite some of them. The color of her hair bothered them so much that they wanted to re-dye it brown in all of his memories, just so it would make sense again. He begged them not to touch his memories but they chuckled at his silly request.

So busy trying to tame _The Sparks_, Heero had a hard time making sense out of her words. Sighing heavily, he finally gave up trying.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow," he said tiredly, "You want me to testify against whom?"

"It doesn't matter; we'll find someone, maybe even Dekim or J. The important thing is that you'll be in a legal status in which the authorities can't touch you."

He understood what she was saying, but it was making his head hurt. _The Sparks_ bounced with glee at the mention of J. They ran around, searching for memories to taunt him with. Images of J flashed in his head, cutting though him like a jagged knife. He grabbed his head, wincing, and arched forward in pain. The sound of J's metal claws echoed in his mind. _'You have good eyes...'_ he remembered J saying. He shuddered, moaning. _The Sparks_ laughed madly.

"Heero? Are you all right?" Relena's voice was filled with worry, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, no, it's fine," he hurried to assure her, and straightened back into the seat, though painfully. "It's just that my head... it aches sometimes," he explained, even if he felt as though he wasn't even speaking real words. The words he spoke were alien to his lips. "Saikin ore wa... no, I mean, I'm... I'm not myself lately."

She smiled kindly."Perhaps you're a bit easier to talk to, but otherwise you seem the same to me."

"I suppose that after all you did to me... sorry, _for _me... After all you've done for me, I feel the need to explain myself to you. Did that make any sense?"

_The Sparks_ were chatting so loudly in his head that it was hard for him to speak correctly. And if there was one thing he hated since childhood, it was to be misunderstood. He felt helpless when he couldn't make people understand him.

"Yes, it did, don't worry about it," she said softly, and took another sip of tea. Heero took a small sip as well, but it made him nauseous so he placed the cup down.

"I understand that you know about Nicolai." Relena said timidly.

It felt odd thinking of Odin as 'Nicolai' again. _The Sparks_ debated how to catalog the man in his brain. They argued amongst themselves, making a racket. They couldn't decide and left him confused. He wasn't sure to whom Relena was referring to at first.

"Yes," he finally mumbled, staring at his cup of red tea.

"I hope you can forgive me for allowing him to take care of you."

"It's okay," he said simply, unwilling to share his doubts about Odin. Relena had done enough for him already; he didn't want to be of further nuisance. He should be able to solve his problems on his own, the way he always had. So for now, he decided to keep his distrust in Odin to himself.

"I was actually relieved to know that you have someone who cares about you," Relena continued, "Someone from before J."

His blue eyes glazed over. Why did she have to mention J again? He could still hear him somewhere in the back of his mind, drilling orders into him. _The Sparks_ sizzled, scorching his psyche with painful memories. Heero's breath shortened, his body on the verge of hysteria, though he fought to hide it. In an attempt to protect his calm façade, Heero thrust _The Sparks_ into the far corners of his mind. Finally, there was some silence. He composed himself and looked back at Relena.

The young woman smiled softly. She was apparently unaware of his mental struggle. "I got the impression that he really cares for you."

"Scares me?" He was surprised that she knew about J.

"No," Relena shook her head, "I said that he _cares_ about you."

Who – J? No, no – she meant Odin, right? Yes, yes, that was probably it.

"I guess," Heero mumbled, confused, "He was there when my mother died."

"I didn't know that."

Heero didn't say anything else for a long while. His head felt empty now that _The Sparks_ had quieted down. He felt a heavy blanket of black conceal the clutter that lay just beneath the surface. He was able to think properly now, but it was superficial. Deep inside his brain was nothing but chaos; memories sparkled like exposed wires.

"Odin deserted me," he decided to share with her, "That's why I ended up with J."

Maybe now she will be able to understand him a bit more. Perhaps she wouldn't judge him for the course his life had taken, the bloody path he had walked. He didn't know why, but he needed absolution from her. If she could understand him, even a slight bit, then that was all right. He didn't care about the rest, about the trials and prosecutors. If someone as righteous and untainted as Relena could forgive him for whom he was, then that was enough. She was so much stronger than him; he believed that she was the only one strong enough to offer him absolution.

"Yes, he told me," Relena whispered, as though the subject of conversation was too holy to be discussed, "I think he regrets it now."

"Did he tell you that?"

She shook her head. "No, I just assumed. The way he held your hand when he first saw you in the hospital... I could see it in his eyes. He must have had good intentions at the time, but he regrets how things didn't turn out for you as he had planned."

Heero nodded thoughtfully. Yes, he knew Relena was the kind of person who could see beyond the blood on people's hands. She saw something in him too; back when he couldn't see past his own orders, past the blood on his hands. Now she saw something in Odin. He trusted her judgment. Perhaps he _could_ learn to trust Odin?

"I have a way to contact the other pilots," Relena hurried to change the subject and pulled a piece of paper out of her suit's pocket. "I can give you the information if you like."

Heero looked up at her, for a moment surprised to see her brown hair again. He considered the offer for a while, before nodding in agreement.

She smiled, and handed him the note. "This is a cake decorating forum. We leave each other messages there. All of our usernames are listed here."

"Cake decorating? Must be Duo's idea," he muttered and Relena laughed lightly.

"Yes, it was. If you decide to join the forum, send us a Personal Message with your username, so we'll know it's you."

He nodded, and placed the folded piece of paper in his pocket.

Relena got up and cleared the cups from the table.

"Say, if you feel up to it, we can go sit in the living room. I can make you something to eat, a sandwich maybe?"

"Thank you," he agreed, and got up as well. Though nauseous, he knew that he must get some food into his system.

Relena gave him a motherly smile, pleased with the fact that he agreed to eat. While she prepared the food, Heero went to sit in the living room. The décor was meager, but there was a double-seat sofa, as well as an armchair and a coffee table. He chose the armchair. The television was on, still displaying the news.

Relena placed a plate full of small sandwiches on the coffee table. "I realized that I really don't know much about you," she said apologetically as she took a seat on the sofa, "So I hope you like cheese and ham."

He didn't say anything, mainly because he didn't have any likes or dislikes he knew about, and simply leaned forward to take a sandwich. He ate slowly, trying to overcome the nausea. He was grateful that Relena didn't pester him into more talking.

The news reports discussed many local issues before switching to an international perspective. The topics turned to the Brussels' War Trials and other global affairs. He tried to concentrate as much as he could, but fatigue was making it hard to keep up with the different news commentators. Many words were spoken against him and the other Gundam pilots. Video footage from the war filled the screen and he saw Wing slash through a whole armada of OZ's mobile suits. He looked away.

Relena changed the channel. "We don't need to see to this," she muttered and began zapping through different channels. She stopped when she reached a mindless sitcom and placed the remote back on the table.

"Do you believe you're doing the right thing, standing up for us?" Heero asked, still gazing at the television.

"Yes, of course," she replied swiftly.

"Do you honestly believe we're not to blame for our crimes?"

Relena didn't hurry to answer his question. He turned to look at her, nearly dreadful to hear what she had to say. She was considering her words like a true diplomat.

"I would be lying if I said that you're innocent in all of this. After all, you did fight in the war; I can't deny that you've killed on your own accord," she turned to look at him, her cerulean eyes grim, "But I also know you regret it."

"You do?"

"Yes," her eyes softened, "You told me that yourself, back in Brussels. You said you were sorry."

He frowned. "I don't remember saying that."

"I know," she smiled sadly, "it was moments before you slipped into the coma," she took a deep breath, to ease the pain brought on by the memory. "You were crying, Heero. I held you and you... you were crying, saying that you're sorry, that you don't want to kill again."

Her voice was trembling. Embarrassed, she looked away; her brown hair obscured her features. Heero gazed at her lengthily, thoughtful.

"That's when I knew..." she continued, whispering, "I knew I had to fight for you... I had to fight for _all_ of you, to protect you like you had protected us."

He didn't know what to say to that. He was grateful, but he couldn't find the words to express his gratitude. He simply turned back to the television. He watched it for a few moments as pointless footage flickered on the screen.

"Thank you," Heero whispered, deciding that those words were enough to convey his feelings. He heard Relena sniffle, and from the corner of his eyes he saw her straighten back into her seat, composed.

The two continued to watch television silently. Heero's eyes gradually slid shut and he fell asleep in the armchair, so exhausted that he was snoring softly.

Relena cleared the dishes to the kitchen. When she finished washing them, she picked up her black briefcase and placed it on the kitchen table. As she opened it, she heard a key turn in the front door as well. She looked up, tense.

The front door opened and Nicolai stepped into the apartment, carrying a large suitcase. He was followed by a woman, who was tall and petite except for her heavily pregnant belly. Her hair was long, dishwater blonde, and gathered in a curly ponytail. Her skin was porcelain white and her features were distinctly Slavic. When their eyes met, the woman smiled politely at Relena.

Relena's eyes ignited with anger. She let go of the briefcase and turned to glare at the man at the door. "What's going on? Nicolai, we agreed no one comes here but us."

"I know what we agreed upon," Nicolai said matter-of-factly as he guided the woman into the kitchen. He pulled out a chair for her to sit, and then turned to Relena for an introduction.

"Relena Darlian, this is Natasha Aksyonov, my fiancée."

"It's nice to finally meet you," Natasha said, smiling. Her voice carried a faint Russian accent.

Relena nodded in greeting, and turned back to Nicolai. "I don't allow any of my bodyguards near this place. No one knows about this apartment, I thought we agreed you'll do the same."

Nicolai returned Relena's glare with a clam, yet severe, look.

"She's two weeks away from giving birth. Do you honestly think I can leave her alone in our apartment? I've been away for long enough. You have nothing to worry about, no one else knows about this place."

"Fine," Relena sighed with annoyance, "Make sure you keep it that way."

"Where's Heero?" Natasha asked, looking around.

Relena gestured at the living room. "He's sleeping, let him rest."

Nicolai spotted the teen as well and his features softened with relief. "When did he wake up?"

"A few hours ago," Relena replied, "He ate something and then fell asleep."

"That's good to hear," Natasha smiled and continued to look around, examining the rest of the apartment.

"How long will you be in town?" Nicolai asked as he dragged the suitcase he'd been carrying inside.

"Not for long," Relena replied curtly, "My being in Ireland for no apparent reason can raise suspicions. I'm returning to Brussels later today, I need to be in court tomorrow morning for a hearing."

"Yes, I heard about that," Natasha remarked, "You want them to testify. Does that mean you don't think they're guilty of anything?"

Relena turned to look at her, her eyes adamant. "I think they are victims of circumstance. There were greater minds working behind this war pulling the strings."

"Oh, yes, no doubt," Natasha hurried to agree. She turned to Nicolai, an apologetic look in her eyes. "I think I need to lie down, my back is killing me."

"Sure," the man said and helped her to her feet, "There's a spare bedroom down the hall."

The pregnant woman waddled heavily out of the kitchen. She stopped by the living room and looked down upon the young teenage boy lying on the armchair, deep asleep. She then slowly continued her walk towards the bedroom.

Relena watched her like a hawk the whole time. When the woman was out of sight, she turned back to Nicolai.

"Before I leave," she said, and turned back to her briefcase, "There's something I want you to see." She pulled out a file folder and handed it to Nicolai.

"What is it?" The man asked, flipping through it.

"It's the final investigation report from the Marimeia Incident. These are the results I requested from Wing Zero's inspection."

Nicolai scanned a few written lines and looked at photos of the wreckage. He couldn't help but wonder how Heero had gotten out of there alive. There was virtually nothing left of the Gundam.

He looked up at Relena. "So? What about this report?"

Relena folded her arms across her chest, and looked at him seriously. "The Gundam had been tampered with."

A worried look crossed the man's face and quickly vanished. Relena frowned, since she couldn't help but think that Nicolai was hiding something from her.

"The Zero System," she continued, "the Gundam's Operating System, wasn't on any of the hard drives. It's been downloaded elsewhere."

"Do you mean after the battle?" the man asked, surprised, "Who could have had access to the wreckage? Preventer were all over the place. I went there looking for Heero, there was no way I could get near the wreckage."

"That's true. Lady Une saw to it herself. But someone still managed to download the information. If the wrong people got their hands on it, it will surely spell trouble."

"Did you ask Heero about this?" Nicolai suggested, "Maybe he had something to do with it."

"No, I don't think so," Relena said with a sighed, "I saw him after he stepped out of the wreckage. He was in no condition to erase the hard drives. He... he was barely aware of anything."

"Do you want me to tell him about this?"

"No, not yet," she said, looking towards the living room where Heero slept. "I don't think he should handle such things at the moment. Knowing him, he'll want to do something about it, and I don't want him risking his life again."

She tore her gaze off Heero and turned back to Nicolai. "I have people working on this. I just wanted you to know, so you'll be on the lookout for anything suspicious. The people who came after you might be interested in something more than assassinating Heero. After all, he's the only one who knows how to handle the Zero System."

"Alright, I'll keep my eyes open," Nicolai promised and handed Relena the file folder, "And I suggest that you do the same. We don't know what those men were after; they could simply be interested in killing the pilots, which would make you a target as well since you're standing up for them."

"I know," she muttered, and repacked her briefcase. She looked towards the living room, where Heero still slept, and sighed deeply. "For once, I'm the one to envy Heero for being ignorant..."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The appetizing scent of fried onion filled the apartment and teased his taste buds. Heero's mouth watered, hunger nudging at his consciousness. Slowly, he opened his eyes and found himself lying curled on an armchair, his body cramped. He stretched before looking around.

He saw Odin sitting by the kitchen table, reading a newspaper, while a blond woman stood by the stove, cooking. She was very tall, probably the same height as Odin, her hair gathered in a long golden ponytail. When she turned to the side, Heero noticed her large pregnant belly. _Odin's fiancée_, he assumed.

Odin looked up from the newspaper, and smiled at the adolescent. "Heero, you're awake."

The woman turned. She gave Heero a strange look which he couldn't recognize, and then she smiled sweetly. He hesitated for a moment, looking at the woman, and finally nodded a polite 'hello'.

"Come here," Odin gestured for him to approach, "I want you to meet Natasha."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Natasha greeted with a light Russian accent in her voice. Heero couldn't help but recall Anya and her alleged uncle, but he knew better than to make generalizations about people simply because they had a common ethnic origin.

"Likewise," he finally returned the greeting, but still didn't move a step closer to the kitchen. He looked around, searching for Relena.

"You've been asleep for over two hours," Odin explained, "Relena had to leave."

"You're welcomed to join us for dinner," Natasha invited him with a warm smile. She seemed very keen to earn his fondness and it made him feel uneasy. Nevertheless, he joined the two in the kitchen. He sat down across from Odin and stared at thin air, feeling very out of place.

Odin folded the newspaper and turned to look at the teen. "It's been a week since we left the boat, did Relena tell you that?"

"No," Heero admitted, and turned to the man, "Have I been unconscious for that long?"

"Yes," Natasha replied from where she stood by the stove, "We were very worried."

"I feel fine," he assured them both, feeling awkward. Such conversations belonged in television programs where a mother, father and son sat down to have dinner and spoke about their day. It was not a part of his life and he wasn't sure he wanted it to be.

He felt very uncomfortable. He didn't want to have dinner with them. Silently, he excused himself from the table. He felt Odin's eyes on him as he retired to his bedroom.

"Is something wrong with him?" Natasha asked worriedly.

"No," Nicolai replied, sighing, "Just give him time."

He returned to reading the newspaper. The headlines discussed the Brussels' War Trials and pictures of all five Gundam pilots were on the cover, beneath an accusing title.

Natasha continued to stir the food, her movements angry.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

Later that evening, Nicolai walked to Heero's bedroom door, carrying dinner on a tray. He knocked on the door and waited for a reply. None came so he cast his gaze down to look under the door, and noted that there was no light coming in from the room. Assuming that Heero was asleep, he opened the door.

A pair of intense blue eyes snapped in his direction. Heero's eyes gleamed under the light pouring in from the hallway. The teen was sitting on the bed, glaring at him.

Startled, the man tried not to show it and cleared his throat instead.

"I brought you dinner," he explained, gesturing with the tray towards Heero. "Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"I'm not hungry," Heero replied to the first part, ignoring the man's question.

"You should eat," Odin insisted and walked into the dark room.

"Stop _mothering_ me," Heero grumbled, glaring. "I'm not a child; I'll eat whenever I want."

"I only brought you the food, eat it whenever you like." He placed the tray on the nightstand by the bed and switched on the bedside-lamp. When he didn't show any signs of leaving, Heero turned to him with an impatient glare.

"Is there anything else you want?"

For a moment, Odin seemed uncomfortable. He lowered his gaze to the floor, stalling, before looking up at Heero.

"We didn't get a chance to really talk after... after you left the boat," he said quietly. "Is there anything you want to say to me now that you're feeling better?"

"No."

"...I see," Odin mumbled. He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands in his pockets.

Heero's eyes drifted towards the warm food waiting for him on the night-table and quickly looked away. He stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest.

"I want you to know that I'm glad you came back to the boat," Odin spoke up again.

"Where else could I've gone?" Heero muttered, "Don't think too much into it."

"Still, I think it's commendable."

Heero resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Acing a mission – that was commendable; having nowhere to go – that wasn't. He remained quiet though, keeping his thoughts to himself.

"I know it will take time for you to trust me," Odin said slowly, "I just hope you'll stay here long enough to find out that I mean you no harm."

Again a pair of cold blue eyes was pointed at him, accusing silently. "I can't _trust_ you if you keep things from me. I'm only here because it's the logical choice for now, but I don't intend to stay."

"Of course."

Heero glared, angry that his words were being taken so lightly. "Bear in mind that my being here doesn't mean that I forgive you."

"I realize that," Odin said calmly, "I know you must be angry. I can't blame you; you've been through so much."

The teen snorted, looking away. "Don't pretend to know what you're talking about."

"I only want to help."

"Then leave me _alone_. I might have been your charity case before, Odin, but I don't need your pity anymore."

"Do you think that I raise you out of pity?"

"Why else _would _you?" Heero demanded angrily, "I don't think you really needed my help during your missions."

"No, not really."

"Then why did you keep me around? Who gave you the right to raise me into a killer? I could have had a normal life if it wasn't for you."

Something shifted in the man's gray eyes, a dark cloud obscuring something even darker. He pinned Heero's gaze with his. "If I hadn't raised you to kill, you wouldn't even _be_ alive."

Heero's face hardened. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

Odin remained silent. Heero sighed with irritation.

"If you don't intend to answer my questions, then I request that you leave me be."

"I'm sorry, Heero," Odin muttered quietly. He sounded genuinely regretful, and the teen sighed with frustration. He simply couldn't figure out the man. He wasn't like anything Heero remembered. He wondered how many wrong assumptions he had formed about the man as a child. Those misguided assumptions were working against him now.

"Tell me why you were sent to assassinate my family." Heero demanded still, not expecting an answer but he wasn't willing to let the matter drop.

"I'm sorry, I can't." Was Odin's the repeated reply.

Heero frowned. "The people we killed, I remember some of them. I remember they were Asian too."

Odin remained quiet, hands in his pockets, his gaze on the floor.

"I remember one man... my first kill," Heero tried again, "He thought he knew me."

More silence. The teen's eyes flared with barely suppressed anger.

"I thought you came in here to talk – so speak!"

Odin looked at him sorrowfully. "I'm sorry, Heero, I can't."

"Then how can you expect me to _trust_ you?"

The man heaved a long sigh. "If there's anything else I can do to prove myself to you, anything but answering those questions, I'll do it."

Skeptical, Heero leveled his gaze with the man's eyes. They seemed sincere, but that meant nothing to him, he was too angry to appreciate it.

"You can start by trusting me with a weapon."

"What? A gun? No, no," Odin said hurriedly, shaking his head like a father denying his son of an expensive toy. "I'm sorry Heero, but you're not well enough to be handed a weapon."

At those words, Heero finally stood up. He walked up to the man and, despite their height differences, glared straight into his eyes. He could tell that Odin tensed the moment he approached. The man's shoulders were noticeably rigid.

"If you can't trust _me_, how can you expect me to even _consider_ trusting you?"

"What purpose will it serve if I handed you a weapon?"

The teen didn't bother offering a reply and simply continued glaring, testing Odin's limits.

"Will it help you feel safer?" Odin tried again, "Do you want _me_ to feel threatened? Is that what trust means to you? Mutual intimidation?"

"I'm not _intimidated_ by anything," Heero's voice was quiet, yet harsh, "You asked me what it would take to earn my trust, I gave you my answer. Take it or leave it."

For a few long moments the two stood face to face, looking fiercely at one another, waiting to see who will be the first to break. It was Odin who finally broke eye contact. He took a step back, sighing, and reached a hand behind his back.

Heero's eyes narrowed suspiciously when Odin pulled a pistol out of his waistband. It had been tucked under his shirt for who-knew how long. Heero berated himself for never noticing it before. Had Odin been carrying it on the boat as well? If so, then why hadn't he attack Boris and Vlad during their violent encounter?

"I've been carrying it since we left the boat," Odin explained as he brought the weapon forward, "I started carrying it with me when I realized that we weren't safe."

"It would have been wiser to carry it earlier," Heero pointed out, refusing to believe Odin's assurances.

His anger multiplied as he watched Odin unload the pistol magazine. The man handed Heero an unarmed handgun.

"Is this a joke?" Heero snapped.

The man shrugged. "You asked for a gun, I'm giving you one. You never mentioned ammo." He gestured at the teen with the handgun, signaling him to receive it. "Take it or leave it."

Irate, Heero snatched the pistol from Odin's hands. If the gun _would_ have been loaded, he might have been tempted to shoot the man in the leg.

"Now," Odin said, smiling with satisfaction, "I suggest you eat your dinner, your body needs it."

That said, the man finally turned and left the room, carrying the magazine away with him.

Heero remained standing rigidly in the middle of the room, holding he pistol in his hand. Helpless with the anger that was eating away at him, he glared at the space Odin had left behind. His fist clenched around the gun until his knuckles turned white.

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

The next morning Heero walked out of his room dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black sweater he had found in his bedroom dresser. The unloaded gun was tucked under his waistband. Although he knew it was empty of bullets, the feeling of cold metal against his back was still very reassuring.

He made his way to the kitchen, carrying the tray Odin had brought him the night before. Natasha was in the living room, reading some sort of women's magazine. She looked up and smiled as he walked past her.

"Good morning," she greeted warmly. Heero nodded a silent 'hello' as he entered the kitchen and placed the empty plates in the sink. He then opened the refrigerator to grab some milk.

"Where's Odin?" He hated the thought of being alone with the unfamiliar woman. Her presence was making him nervous, which was very unlike him. _The Sparks_ buzzed in the back of his head. They didn't like her either. In fact, he felt trapped. He didn't wish to stay in that apartment long.

"Nicolai had some business to attend to," she said, turning a page in the magazine.

"What kind of business? Does he work?"

"Of course he does," Natasha called from the living room. Her voice implied that the answer should have been obvious. "A man needs to make a living."

Heero slammed the refrigerator door shut. He wanted to ask her more questions about Odin, about their life together, but it was none of his business. Odin chose a life without him, so why should he care?

"You're invited to sit here with me," Natasha offered kindly, tapping at the spot next to her on the sofa, "Would you like to watch a movie? You might like it better than sitting in your room."

"No thank you," he replied quietly, appalled by the idea, "Is there a computer I can use?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, I think Nicolai left his laptop for you. It's inside that bag," she pointed at a small black case lying in the kitchen corner.

Heero nodded in thanks. He poured himself a glass of milk before sitting down by the kitchen table. Looking up over his shoulder, he made sure that Natasha wasn't watching and pulled out the note Relena had given him. He typed in the Cake Decorating forum's address and opened an account.

He hesitated while choosing a username; he didn't want it to be obvious. None of the other pilots chose a name that could give them away. Heero decided to do the same, and signed onto the forum using the nickname 'Mizuko'.

The first person he needed to send a message to was Helen, AKA Duo Maxwell. He didn't know what to say exactly, so he kept it short:

_'Hello Helen. It's been over nine months since we last spoke. I'm doing well, how are you?'_

Staring at the flashing cursor, he wondered what else he should write. He wasn't sure why he was emailing Duo in the first place, let alone what to write to him. He simply needed to talk to someone who made him feel less like 'Heero the Lost-boy' and more like 'Heero the Gundam-pilot'.

When nothing came up, he decided that even a small message would be sufficient. He supposed that even a small friendly gesture was enough to show that he still wanted to keep in touch. He signed _'Mizuko'_ and sent the message. He also sent the rest of the pilots and Relena a short message containing his username, so they'll know how to contact him.

During the following hours, Heero surfed the internet, having nothing better to do to pass his day. He caught-up with world events by reading news articles dating nine-months back, to the day the war ended, the day he fell into the coma.

There were quite a few news items regarding his hospitalization and the debate on whether or not he should be taken off life-support. Apparently, doctors had disputes over the question of whether or not he was even _alive. _Evidently, after he had been rushed to the ER by Relena, he was soon pronounced brain-dead. Doctors kept him on life-support, and then, two days later, the monitors suddenly registered brain activity.

Heero felt his heart clench with something akin to fear. He was actually _dead_ for two days before his brain had miraculously returned to life. Was that even possible? He didn't know how to feel about it. He continued reading.

When it was confirmed that he was still alive, the doctors debated on whether or not he would ever wake up from the coma. As days formed into weeks, the doctors gave him less and less chances to recover. That was when public voices called for his euthanasia. More and more claimed that he should be put to death, no questions asked. They argued that it was the 'moral' thing to do.

While Heero was already aware of that fact, anger rose inside him as he read the words. There was nothing _moral_ about what they wanted to do to him. However, was _he_ any better? He had played the role of judge, jury and executioner numerous times during the war. Wasn't it only fair that they demand his death? It would have been an easy passing, he would have felt nothing, and if he had, he would have welcomed it.

So why was he feeling so angry, so upset by the injustice of the world? It was the same anger he had felt just before Anya and her uncle were about to kill him. Both his ethic sense and logic accepted the fact that he should be killed for his crimes, and yet his heart filled with contempt and anger at the unfairness of it all.

Natasha waddled heavily into the kitchen. Heero looked up from the laptop to see what she was doing. The digital clock on the microwave displayed one O'clock.

"Nicolai mentioned that you like pasta," Natasha spoke as she opened a cupboard and pulled out a large pot, "Would you like some for lunch?"

Heero frowned. He only liked Odin's spaghetti and meatballs – that didn't mean he liked pasta. He rarely ate pasta; it was never a part of the diet J assigned to him. And besides, why did Odin share such personal information with her? Feeling exposed, Heero looked away, back to the laptop.

"I'm not hungry," he said, hoping she will leave him alone.

"Well, I'll prepare some anyway," she said, "Maybe you'll develop an appetite."

Heero wondered why she even bothered asking him what he wanted if she planned on doing what she liked anyway. He didn't appreciate her attempts at being friendly; it annoyed him. He returned to his reading, purposefully ignoring the woman as she wandered about the kitchen, cooking.

Soon he could hear sounds of chopping, stirring, boiling and frying. The kitchen was filled with the aroma of Bolognese sauce. The scent teased his senses and aroused his hunger. He tried to keep his focus on the computer screen, reading, but his eyes drifted towards the source of the delicious scents. His mouth watered, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in over 16 hours.

Natasha turned from the stove, holding a wooden spoon full of red sauce. "Would you like to try some?" she asked, smiling, "I want to know if the seasoning is to your liking."

He frowned. Was she _serious?_ Who did she think she was – his _mother?_

"I'm sure it's fine," he muttered and turned back at the laptop. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the disappointed look on her face. For a moment, she even seemed annoyed. Good; maybe she'll learn to leave him alone. When she turned back to tend the food, Heero resumed reading about the Brussels' War Trails.

A glass of juice entered his line of vision and he looked up, scowling. Natasha was serving him juice without him asking. What was _wrong_ with her? Was she trying to drive him mad? Or perhaps she was trying to earn his affection by shoving food down his throat?

He didn't even know what 'affection' _meant_ and he certainly didn't want to learn it from _her_. However, he understood that she was only trying to earn his fondness because of Odin, so he obliged her and accepted the glass.

"Thank you," he mumbled and took a small sip. The liquid was very sweet, too sweet for someone who usually avoided sugar. He resisted the urge to grimace and took another sip only to humor her. When she saw that he was drinking, she smiled, nodded and returned to the stove.

Heero sighed quietly and put the glass away. He had only taken a few sips and already he was feeling nauseas. He decided that he hated sweets and returned to the article he'd been reading.

Many military officers, both OZ and Federation Alliance, were being put to trial for crimes they've committed during the war. The list was long and versatile, also containing prosecution for Crimes against Humanity and Crimes against Peace. The Gundam pilots were being accused of both. There were two main factions in the general population, one against them and one in favor. The debates were long and tiresome to read about. In fact, he was beginning to feel a bit woozy.

So absorbed in his reading, Heero was startled when Natasha suddenly placed a plate on the table. He looked up, wary, and saw that she was merely arranging the table. She smiled at him, a few dirty-blond bangs obscuring her dark eyes. He didn't respond and cast his gaze down to the screen, though his attention was set on Natasha, keeping track on her every move. He wasn't sure why he was being so paranoid.

Natasha set a total of three plates on the table. Heero assumed that Odin would return soon to have lunch with them. He still felt uncomfortable with the idea of having a meal with the couple. It just didn't feel right. He considered retiring to his room, but he was so hungry and her cooking smelled so good...

"Heero, would you mind putting the laptop away?" Natasha asked sweetly. Heero was now _certain_ that he disliked _anything_ sweet.

He got up and prepared to move to the living room. A wave of dizziness swept over him. The world blurred and swiveled. Bile climbed to his throat, the dizziness was overwhelming. He slumped back into the chair, unable to keep standing.

Natasha placed a steaming pot of spaghetti Bolognese at the center of the table. Heero blinked to clear his vision. She turned to him, seemingly unbothered by his sudden ill appearance.

"Heero, do you mind moving the laptop away so we can eat?"

He took a deep breath, his features miserable from nausea. "Hai," he mumbled, speech slurred. Something was wrong.

A knock came from the door. Heero's heart skipped a beat. Odin wouldn't knock on the door.

"Come in," Natasha called.

He heard the door open. Panting, he slowly turned around to see who was coming. He leaned heavily against the back of the chair, unable to keep upright. His vision came in and out of focus. Sweat dripped into his eyes. He blinked repetitively, trying to regain his vision. Had he been drugged?

A figure was approaching the kitchen. His sight was vague but he could make out her slight feminine figure and long blond hair. The girl was short, probably young. The way she walked seemed awfully familiar.

Heero's eyes widened and he gasped. Stumbling out of the chair, he ended up on the floor. He unsuccessfully struggled to stand and reached a hand behind his back, searching for the pistol. His fingers were stiff, refusing to wrap around the handle. He tried to crawl away from the table. The girl came to block his path.

Sitting on his knees, breathless, he looked up. Behind his back, his fingers still tried to grasp for the unloaded gun.

"Hello, Heero," a familiar, soft Russian voice greeted. Though his vision was hazy, he could see her smile as she turned to look at the other woman.

"Hello, Natasha."

"Anya," the woman returned the greeting, "You're just in time for lunch."

_o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o.o._

_**To be continued...**_

_**Author's Note:**_ I'm afraid to say that it's going to take me longer to post each chapter, since I'm making major revisions in the story as I write the last few chapters. Please bear with me.

Elle.


End file.
